


Sins of the Flesh

by Reyanth



Series: Sins of the Flesh [1]
Category: Tenipuri - Fandom, Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masochism, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:44:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyanth/pseuds/Reyanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tezuka returns from Germany ready to pursue the relationship with Fuji he has been running from for so long... only to find that Fuji is already spoken for, and not who Tezuka thought he was.<br/>Set during the post Rikkai training camp filler arc of the anime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sins of the Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> (A bit of liberty with the timeline as passage of days is implied but not certain.)

Tezuka risked leaving his group for a little while to observe some of Fuji’s match. He’d barely seen the tensai since his return to Japan.

While in Germany, Tezuka had come to terms with his feelings for the tensai, and since returning, he’d found that Fuji was on his mind a lot, especially when he was supposed to be concentrating on other things. Like tennis.

Now, watching Fuji move, he felt stirrings of desire that had been reserved mostly for dreams and brief stints in the shower. Before his eyes, brown hair ruffled in the wind, lithe legs pumped and pivoted, and strong though seemingly delicate arms respectively provided precise swings and counterbalance. The view filled Tezuka with a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun.

How had he ever failed to notice that graceful movement guiding a slim but lithely muscle body… those intense eyes? His own eyes roamed over Fuji’s figure, pausing to examine the calf muscles exposed to his inspection. Still, his gaze was drawn higher. Rather than watching the game, he found himself watching the back of Fuji’s thigh where the cuff of the tensai’s shorts flapped about, showing skin now and then that was otherwise hidden.

At one point, Fuji jumped to hit a smash, and his upper thigh was exposed. Only because Tezuka was already staring at Fuji’s thighs did he notice the large black bruise that was revealed.

He frowned, watching Fuji more closely as the players exchanged sides of the court. Though he couldn’t see the back of Fuji’s thighs from this angle, Tezuka paid closer attention anyway. His vigilance was rewarded—if such a word was applicable—by the sight of several dark marks just barely visible as Fuji ran and jumped, his shirt rising in response to his arm movements as he swung at the ball.

Tezuka wondered at the origin of those bruises—if they really were bruises. Perhaps what he had seen were simply shadows or tricks of the light… He doubted that, but there was one way to find out.

Reluctantly, the captain tore his eyes away from Fuji’s body. He had to get back to the group under his charge before his absence was questioned.

*

Purposely, Fuji lingered on the court after practice. He’d explained this habit away before, saying that he preferred to warm down well and use the locker room when it was less crowded.

He waited, watching as the members of his group left one by one. Finally, he headed over himself.

The truth was, he couldn’t change in front of the others. They would ask too many questions. Atobe was good about keeping injuries to easily covered areas, but if Fuji took his clothes off, the marks all over his body would be clearly visible.

It was quite a sight. Sometimes Fuji would lock his door and stand in front of the mirror, running his hands over his skin and pressing on some of the fresher bruises, reliving their infliction.

He closed his eyes, slowly dragging his fingers up his left arm… There. Just below the junction where chest met shoulder… Yes, that one had been particularly painful. He’d noticed it all through practice, tweaking every time he moved.

Touching the bruise made him wonder if he’d have time to visit Atobe before dinner and lights out. He’d have to hurry.

Just as he slipped his arms into a comfortable white button up shirt, Fuji was startled by the sudden creaking of the door. He rushed to turn away and button the shirt over his exposed chest, desperately trying to think of an excuse for his actions. However, his trembling fingers never managed one button. Tezuka grabbed his arm and he froze.

The captain waited for him to turn around voluntarily. When he didn’t, he was forcibly spun to face his friend.

Tezuka’s grip didn’t loosen at all. If anything, it tightened.

“What is this?” Tezuka asked, his voice dangerously low and quiet, his eyes narrowed almost frighteningly. “Where did you get all these bruises?”

Fuji didn’t reply. Inside he was panicking but outwardly he stared almost calmly at the captain. The only visual sign of his uncertainty was the replacement of his usual smile with the rare, sharp-eyed expression that was usually reserved for the tennis court.

The bluff failed and as Tezuka reached toward him, he jumped and tried to pull away, hampered by the strong grip on his arm. Gentle fingers pressed against his skin, running over various bruises and scratches.

“Not all of these are fresh, are they?” Tezuka murmured.

“Let me go…” Fuji breathed.

Tezuka ignored him. “These scratches… Whoever did this to you had access to bare skin.”

At that moment, Fuji hated him; he hated Tezuka for subjecting him to this kind of embarrassment. Why couldn’t the captain just let him go and pretend he’d never noticed?

“It’s not just your chest, is it?” Damn Tezuka for his perception! “Just how much of your body is covered in scars?” the captain asked coldly.

Fuji felt tears well up in his eyes. He liked the way Atobe hurt him—he liked the way it made him feel and the guilt it helped to suppress—but… with Tezuka staring at the result and jumping to conclusions… for the first time, Fuji was ashamed—mortified, even—by his depraved sexual tastes.

“It’s none of your business,” he blurted out, struggling against his captain’s hold which snapped firm the moment he tried to disengage himself.

Tezuka’s gaze rose to meet his own and he could only stare back helplessly. He knew his friend would inevitably come to the wrong conclusion but it wasn’t as if Fuji could readily admit that the wounds had been inflicted on him with his willing consent—sometimes only if he begged.

“You’ve been sexually abused.” The compassion in Tezuka’s eyes was worse than any pity or scolding. “Fuji… Who did this?”

“Tezuka, please just forget you saw this,” the tensai tried, already knowing the effort was futile.

Scowling, Tezuka shook him, now holding him by both arms. “I have a right to protect my team!” he cried, belatedly adding, “And my friends. Fuji, I won’t just let this go!”

He was serious and Fuji knew it. Gathering every ounce of his strength, he wrenched himself out of Tezuka’s grasp and stumbled backwards. “I said forget it!” he hissed, knowing that his usually placid character was spiraling out of control and nothing would make Tezuka more determined or suspicious.

He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, suddenly needing to cover up the evidence painted all over his body. Each button took his trembling fingers far too long to deal with and he grunted with frustration.

As Tezuka’s shoes scuffed the floor in a step towards him, he looke dup and met those hard eyes. Perhaps it was the anger that flashed in those eyes, or the sense of a threat in his approach, but Fuji couldn’t seem to control the flow of traffic from brain to mouth. “I’m not your pet to protect!” he snapped, struggling with the second button from the top. “No one’s touched me without my consent so just drop it!”

“Garbage,” Tezuka hissed, advancing another step as Fuji backed away, abandoning the last button.

“I want this!” Fuji continued, desperately needing to make Tezuka understand and just leave him alone. “I need it.”

Tezuka stopped dead in his tracks, exhibiting a rare expression of shock. “What?” he breathed after several seconds of silence.

It was too late to take anything back—too late to leave Tezuka hanging with that bombshell and no explanation—but Fuji couldn’t speak. He stared into Tezuka’s eyes and his inability to see a way forward triggered an alien reaction. He began to cry, tears welling up and brimming over to slip down his cheeks as he collapsed weakly to his knees.

He didn’t expect Tezuka to rush to him and pull him into the strong embrace that had always seemed so unattainable. The captain held him close while one firm but gentle hand stroked his hair. The gesture only made Fuji sob harder even as he tried to put an end to the tears.

After several minutes, Tezuka began to speak. “I don’t understand. I can’t even pretend to. The thought of someone laying their hands on you with the intent of causing you pain… It makes me sick. I can’t imagine that you could encourage that. Whoever would do so, even if you begged… Fuji, just the thought of it makes me furious.” Tezuka’s hold tightened and all at once, Fuji understood through the embrace that Tezuka cared about him more than he’d ever suspected the captain was capable of. “I know he’s here. Some of those bruises are fresh enough they could only have been inflicted during the course of this camp. When I figure out-”

“Stop!” Fuji cried. He was rigid with fear at the thought of Tezuka discovering that the “abusive” lover who did this to him was Atobe—the same Atobe who had caused the shoulder injury that might have destroyed Tezuka’s career... If anyone understood the rich boy’s twisted, chivalrous cruelty, it was Tezuka. “I don’t want your protection. I don’t need it. I’ve asked for every one of these bruises and-”

Tezuka shifted, drawing back so he could glare into Fuji’s eyes. “Tell me you love the man who did this to you. Tell me you weren’t driven to this in the first place because of me.”

Now Fuji saw the surprising glint of tears behind the lenses of Tezuka’s glasses, and he was frozen with shock at both the tears and the words. How could Tezuka possibly have discerned so much?

“…Maybe at first,” Fuji whispered reluctantly. He averted his eyes, unable to look at that painfully honest face any longer. It was true. He would never have had the impetus to pursue Atobe’s particular brand of attention if he hadn’t met a cold, hard wall when it came to the Seigaku captain. “ I’ll end it with him. Just promise me you won’t take this any further.”

“After I kill him,” Tezuka spat, resting his forehead against Fuji’s.

The harsh words, the anger… It was all so shocking. Tezuka was always so stoic and calm. To see him like this…

If he could make Tezuka understand, then maybe there was a chance to salvage the situation. Sooner or later, Tezuka would figure it out and still be furious enough to do something dangerous—unless Fuji helped him to understand. It was time to change tactics. Fuji drew a deep breath. He decided to go out on a limb.

“At first, I was angry. He hurt… someone I cared about and I wanted to crush him in a match where it would hurt him the most.” It had been a half formed idea at best. “He wasn’t so easy an opponent and his taunts hit the mark all too well. I lost my temper and shoved him into the fence.” Fuji laughed in self-derision, remembering the incident. He’d blames Atobe for Tezuka’s absence and for the loneliness and lack of direction that had stolen over him while his captain was out of reach. “I was so angry and he was so infuriatingly calm.” Slowly, he pulled away from Tezuka and sat back, wrapping his arms around his knees and staring at the floor. “He punched me. It hurt him as much as it hurt me but… I was too busy enjoying the sensation to hit him back.” Pausing, Fuji took a deep breath, remembering his strange reaction to the blow. “He’s not stupid—despite appearances. He deciphered the reaction even I hadn’t figured out yet.”

It hadn’t been the first time, either. Yuuta had often wondered at his willingness to take the less-than-brotherly blows divested on him when they were younger. Fuji just hadn’t ever found pain to be a reason to hit back.

“I never understood why I don’t fight for my own sake. I never understood why pain doesn’t affect me the way it should… I began smiling as a matter of course because I’m afraid people will see this dark side of me that I try and pretend doesn’t exist… When he hit me, anger turned into something else; something more like lust. I just stared at him, holding my arm, unable to move, because I was afraid of what I might do. I didn’t want to hit him… I wanted to kiss him.” Fuji felt helpless saying all of this to Tezuka. It was humiliating, but he had to make Tezuka understand, because of all the people that could ever find out his deep, dark secret, the stoic Seigaku captain was the only one that mattered. 

“He laughed,” Fuji continued in barely more than a whisper. He said he couldn’t believe that Fuji Syusuke—the lauded tensai—was so perverted. I didn’t understand. Only when he explained it to me did I realize it was true. The feelings I was experiencing, the conversion of pain into sexual energy… I didn’t understand until he spelled it out.” Instinctively, Fuji curled tighter around his knees, wishing he could just disappear. He could feel Tezuka’s eyes on him and the silence was so oppressive he had to keep speaking just to escape from it. “When he kissed me, squeezing my arm to leave a big bruise, I felt desire from the pain. I was so disgusted with myself I didn’t even question his actions but I would have done anything he asked after that. He didn’t ask anything. He pulled away. He didn’t take advantage of my confusion and just when embarrassment began to turn to rage, he apologized—for everything. He said he was sorry for hurting… my friend, and that he’d understood too late that he had gone too far. He said he never expected it to get so out of hand and that he would never take that risk again because it took its toll on his conscience, too. He even apologized for accepting my challenge knowing that I wanted revenge, and for hitting me, and kissing me, and… Tezuka, I was so confused. I’d gone from hating him, to wanting him, to understanding and maybe even liking him in a matter of minutes…” 

Finally, Fuji looked up into Tezuka’s eyes. The captain was listening quietly, his expression remarkably blank. “I don’t think I love him but I do love what he does to me. There’s a part of myself that isn’t satisfied with the rest of me. The only way I can compensate is to seek pain to the point that it replaces pleasure. The first time I experienced that, it was like I’d found the missing piece and I can’t go back now. I need the pain as much as I need the pleasure.”

“Fuji…”

“If I break up with him, can you take his place? Can you punish me? Hit me, rape me, abuse me?” Tezuka opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out and his lips snapped helplessly shut even as Fuji continued to speak. “I love you, Tezuka. I have for a long time. I didn’t think you would ever care about me this much, and I’m glad, but it’s too late.”

Tezuka’s eyes dropped and Fuji could read along as a confused play of emotions crossed his face. Finally, the captain reached out without looking up, taking Fuji’s fingers in his. “Who is it?” he asked, almost calmly. Fuji hesitated. It sounded like Tezuka had reconsidered pursuing a vendetta but what if it was a ploy? “I just want to know who it is,” the captain added quietly.

There was something Fuji had to add, just in case… “It was a long time before he hit me again, no matter how much I asked. Afterwards, he always holds me and comforts me. He apologizes no matter how much I tell him to stop it. He doesn’t want to hurt me. I think… I think he loves me.”

“I get it. Just tell me,” Tezuka insisted in a brittle voice, as if hearing how much this mysterious rival cared was more painful than if Fuji was simply being used.

“Atobe,” Fuji whispered.

Tezuka’s grip tightened spasmodically, his finger’s clutching Fuji’s in a death grip. “Atobe,” he repeated coldly.

There was nothing Fuji could say. He silently watched Tezuka, terrified that he’d made the wrong choice in revealing the name of his lover. Slowly, the grip on his fingers lessened.

“You challenged him on my behalf,” Tezuka said after a long silence, his hand dropping from Fuji’s. All of a sudden, he laughed, the sound positively chilling. “And to think I trusted him to take care of Echizen in my absence.”

“Tezuka-”

“Hush, Fuji-”

“He’s changed! He’s not-”

“-cruel anymore? He doesn’t hurt people out of spite? No, of course not. He beats you because you want it, right?” Tezuka stood abruptly, glaring down at the tensai. “No one who loves you could intentionally hurt you even if you begged, even if he knew you would just do it yourself. No one who loves you could raise a hand against you ‘for you own sake.’ You say he’s changed… Has he really? Or has he simply found someone to take his pent up, spoiled, rich boy frustrations out on?”

“Tezuka! Don’t you dare-”

“Feeling remorse for one’s actions means nothing if you don’t learn from it and fix the mistake! I don’t believe you’re blind, Fuji, which means you know that he’s the same old bully and simply don’t care. Lie to yourself all you want but you can’t lie to me,” Tezuka said coldly as he turned away.

Fuji felt fear build up in his chest and he scrambled to his feet. “Touch him and I’ll quit Seigaku!” he threatened. “This isn’t about Atobe! I don’t care whether he loves me or if he loves his reflection more. It doesn’t matter. He gives me what I want!” Tezuka was still for several seconds and then walked away. “That’s the problem, isn’t it, Tezuka? He gives me what you can’t. If you love me so much, just say you’ll do it,” Fuji cried, hopeful enough, though he knew it would never happen. “If you can do that for me, then you can have me all to yourself.” Tezuka had stopped now, standing with his back to Fuji, his fists clenched. “Are you angry?” Fuji asked slyly, moving toward the captain. “Do it. Hit me,” he tempted.

The thought of Tezuka taking over Atobe’s role sent tendrils of excitement to Fuji’s groin, and he pressed himself against the captain’s back, showing him just how hard he had become in that last few seconds. Slowly, he slid his arms around Tezuka's waist...

Tezuka spun, throwing him off.

“I will never hit you,” Tezuka spat, his whole body tense. He slowly reached out, his hand trembling as he caressed Fuji’s cheek surprisingly gently. “You are right, though. I’m jealous of that bastard. It took leaving you for me to realize I cared, and it took finding these scars and bruises for me to realize I love you.” The caress stopped and Fuji leaned so very naturally into the hand cupping his cheek. “To think that Atobe, of all people, has a prior claim on you—any claim at all, even… Yes, I’m jealous. I’m also furious. I can’t stand the thought of anyone hurting you—not even if you’re the one hurting yourself.” What Tezuka did next shocked Fuji so much he couldn’t even react. The captain bent and kissed him, those delicious lips brushing over his own so very lightly. “Quit Seigaku if you want,” Tezuka breathed. “Some things are more important than schools and tennis.” His thumb skimmed over Fuji's lower lip.

“Please, Tezuka,” Fuji pleaded desperately, finally recovering from his stunned observation. “This is between you and me. Don’t drag Atobe-”

Fuji’s protests stuttered to a halt as Tezuka smiled unexpectedly. It was a cold and joyless expression. “I’ve already said I won’t hurt you, Syusuke.” The tensai almost flinched at the use of his given name. “You’ve implied you won’t accept me if I can’t. There is nothing more to be said. Even so, I won’t sit back and allow anyone to abuse you, whether it’s Atobe or anyone else.”

The moment he began to move away, Fuji lunged and clutched to Tezuka’s shirt, burying his face in the fabric. “He’s only ever done what I’ve asked of him, Tezuka. If you need to be angry at someone then be angry at me. He’s the unwilling party. I’ve manipulated him into hurting me time and time again… He’s suffering for it! He hates himself just as much as you hate him right now—but I won’t let him stop. I’m selfish and conniving… I’m shameless and I know it.”

“Fuji…”

The tensai continued with markedly less vigor. “I don’t care what you think of me, as long as you understand the truth. It wouldn’t be fair for you to take it out on him. I’m the one who’s wrong.”

“I don’t understand you,” Tezuka whispered weakly, detaching Fuji from his shirt and backing up several steps.

“Fine. Just don’t go attacking Atobe. He doesn’t deserve it,” Fuji replied quietly, staring at Tezuka’s feet.

“…Fine,” Tezuka agreed without really seeming to agree at all.

His right foot lifted slightly, paused, and then turned, dragging the left with it. They left the range of Fuji’s eyesight and the sound of footsteps faded, followed by the creak of the door.

After Tezuka was gone, Fuji stood there for some time before slowly, calmly closing the last button of his shirt. He scooped up his sports bag, feeling like a mindless doll as he moved, carrying out actions with no thought but a vague notion of the eventual goal: to return to his dorm, crawl into bed, and cry until he forgot why he was crying.


	2. Wounds of the Heart

Crystalline eyes stared back at him with an alluring mystery he could almost drown in. It wouldn’t be long now before his lover came by on a whim that was, in fact, much easier to anticipate than he assumed. In the meantime, Atobe was free to pursue a love affair with his own mirror, caught up in appreciation of the view the rest of the world had the privilege of enjoying all day long.

Enthralled as he was, Atobe answered to a knock at his door with adequate grace and confidence as he ran a soft-bristled antique silver brush through his hair. He glanced at the visitor’s reflection in the mirror and raised his eyebrows even as he continued to groom his silky-soft hair. First of all, it wasn’t Fuji. It also wasn’t one of his teammates or admirers. It was, in fact, one of the last people Atobe expected to find himself entertaining.

“Where’s that lackey of yours?” asked Tezuka, his eyes roaming the room.

“He sleeps in Jirou’s room so as not to disturb ore-sama with his snoring,” Atobe replied calmly, though that wasn’t entirely true. The reason Atobe had the room to himself was due to Fuji’s sporadic visits. “Tezuka? Is there something I can do for you?”

“I haven’t properly thanked you for ruining my shoulder.”

Atobe, inwardly somewhat confused by Tezuka’s sudden appearance, quickly grew tense but remained unflustered on the surface. Placing the brush down, he ran a hand through his hair to fluff it up a little in completion, turning around to look his rival in the eyes.

“About that… I haven’t really apologized, have I?” he asked as he stood. His rival began to advance. “Tezuka, I truly am-” Tezuka grabbed Atobe by the shirt, yanking him close and kissing him hard.

Without wasting a minute, he forced his tongue into Atobe’s mouth. Hyoutei’s captain was frozen for a second before his tongue began to respond instinctively. However, he gathered up his courage and pushed Tezuka away.

*

“Tezuka.”

“Is there a problem?” Tezuka asked gruffly.

He knew he was attractive, especially to someone like Atobe. For the self-obsessed rich boy to turn him down, there had to be a good reason. Tezuka damn well hoped that reason was Fuji.

All at once, Atobe seemed to regain the composure he was infamous for on the courts. “It’s understandable that you would aim for a high target such as ore-sama. However, I regret to inform you that I am already seeing someone.”

Tezuka crossed his arms over his chest, slowly smiling. “And I couldn’t persuade you to leave him? …Not even temporarily?”

“What makes you so sure it’s a ‘him’?” Atobe replied indignantly.

“Just answer the question,” Tezuka replied.

Atobe studied him for a moment as if trying to decide whether there was some ulterior motive in Tezuka’s sudden interest. “No,” he said eventually. “As attractive as you are… There’s no temptation,” he added flatteringly.

“I’m surprised,” Tezuka admitted, taking the liberty of seating himself upon the absent Kabaji’s bed. “I had honestly thought you’d accept my advance.”

“I’m sorry, but no.”

“Don’t be. If you had, I would probably have done something regrettable,” Tezuka informed him. Relief was momentary. As he looked around the room and its temporary yet wastefully expensive trimmings, he wondered what Fuji could possibly see in this guy. “Well…” he sniffed. “The night’s still young. I haven’t ruled out killing you yet,” he muttered, almost wishing he found cause to do just that and not entirely sure he hadn’t done so already in Fuji’s confession.

Beginning to cotton on, Atobe slowly sank onto the opposite bed, maintaining a pristine posture while crossing his arms to emphasize his honed biceps. “What is this all about, Tezuka?” he asked straight-forwardly. 

“You love Fuji,” Tezuka began bluntly.

“I… Yes,” Atobe agreed, sounding uncharacteristically astounded. “How did you-?”

“We had a long talk earlier this evening,” Tezuka replied, indicating through tone of voice just how much they’d ‘discussed’. He wanted nothing more than to rail at the rival captain but he knew the issue was more complicated than that. He kept a grudging lid on his anger and forced himself to remember Fuji’s perspective. “Fuji assures me that you’ve changed and that he’s left you no choice in the… manner of your relationship. He made me promise not to come after you.”

*

“I see,” Atobe said quietly. He was on edge, still not sure what Tezuka was after, though now he had considerably more reason to expect danger. Despite his better judgment, curiosity caused Atobe to ask Tezuka for a summary of what he knew.

Mechanically, Tezuka told him everything from spotting the bruises during the match to Fuji’s final plea and his own retreat. Hearing the story, Atobe had a better understanding of what Tezuka was getting at. It slowly sank in that his dangerous relationship with Seigaku’s tensai had been discovered by the single-most unlucky candidate. 

“Honestly, I don’t see how you could do this to him if you truly love him, and I certainly don’t understand why he would want it,” Tezuka finished, fixing Atobe with an icy stare.

Atobe knew he would have to be up front with Tezuka. It was obvious how Fuji’s captain felt about his resident tensai, and a man in love was the very definition of ‘thin ice’. Besides… Tezuka, Kunimitsu was clever and rational. If Atobe just explained… Well, maybe.

Atobe held Tezuka’s glare. “Fuji is unstable. He puts up a front for others, hiding his own pain day in, day out… You know that much. On top of that, he’s praised as a genius and feels he’s done nothing to earn it. He’s tormented by his inability to play at strength, always lowering himself to the level of others. His craving for pain has probably always been there, whether he recognized it or not, but it’s my fault he’s come to associate it with pleasure. I’ll admit that much,” Atobe muttered, averting his gaze to glare down at the bed. “I indulge him because I’m afraid of two things. One is that he’ll turn to self mutilation, which is far more dangerous—and I wouldn’t be there to watch over him. The other is… I’m afraid that he would change.” His eyes returned to Tezuka’s once more. “Even if he has developed an unhealthy habit, the Fuji I love is kind and strong. If he didn’t have a way to punish himself when no one was looking, he would become a different person. He’d push everyone away and he’d lose track of himself. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I don’t want to see that happen and I don’t think Fuji would want that, either, otherwise he wouldn’t have found an escape.” Tezuka was silent but Atobe’s gaze was unfaltering. “I know what you’re thinking. No excuse justifies hurting him.”

“I’m glad you said it for me,” Tezuka replied after a moment. “At the least, I think you really believe you’re doing it for Fuji’s sake. I can forgive you as long as your heart is in the right place.” Atobe simply stared at Tezuka, haughty but cautious, waiting for the catch. When the Seigaku captain continued, it was with a glare of steel. “Don’t think for a second that I condone your actions. You’re right. Nothing ‘justifies’ laying a hand against Fuji. You’ve simply convinced me not to throttle you here and now.”

“Glad to hear it,” Atobe muttered. The threat picked at a wounded thread of his pride. He narrowed his eyes. “Tezuka, what exactly do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Tezuka replied instantly. “Fuji has made it quite clear that what he wants is something I can’t give him.”

“Let me be a little more specific,” Atobe ground out. “Why are you here?”

Tezuka glared at him for a moment, and then sighed, his posture collapsing as his eyes lowered to the ground. “I needed to know for myself how you really felt about him—and hear your side of the story to compare with his.”

“And now?” Atobe asked, a little more sedately, feeling sorry for his destined rival who was clearly lost. If he himself had stumbled upon a similar situation with a member of his own team—let alone one he had feelings for—he would have been quite stumped and far less forgiving.

“Honestly? I don’t know what to do.” Tezuka slumped, dropping his head into his hands. “There’s nothing I can think of to say to Fuji and there’s no point in being angry at you. The only way to stop this madness is to get through to him, but how?”

“I wish I knew,” Atobe replied sadly.

Tezuka laughed. He removed his glasses and dug his palms tiredly into his eyes before replacing the frames on his nose. Slightly refreshed, he looked into Atobe’s eyes once more.

“I hate this,” he said, once more surprising with a new angle. “Just because I refrained once doesn’t give me the right to condemn you… When he said I could have him if I could give him what he needed…” Tezuka frowned, shaking his head. “I very nearly gave in.”

“You didn’t,” Atobe replied, smothering his rising jealousy. “You have that much over me,” he admitted bitterly.

“You’re right,” Tezuka agreed, a self-satisfied expression briefly gracing his features and making Atobe scowl. “I’m going to lay this out plainly. I will not let this slide. Somehow, I’m going to find an answer, and when I do, I intend to make Fuji mine. If you love him, you’ll help me—rather, you’ll help him.”

“Ore-sama,” Atobe began coldly. “Will never relinquish what is his.”

Tezuka rose to his feet, staring frighteningly calmly into Atobe’s eyes as he adjusted his glasses.

Atobe waited until he turned and walked away, his hand on the doorknob. “But I want the one I love to be happy and healthy, and if that means that he will no longer be mine… Well, I’ll buy that bridge when I come to it,” he added as Tezuka retreated out the door.

*

Pulling the door shut behind him with a satisfying click, Tezuka paused in the hallway. Atobe was practically impossible to deal with but… just maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy. 

Tezuka had wanted so badly to be able to hate him but since he’d been thwarted in that respect, at least he could feel comforted that he wasn’t alone in wanting Fuji to change. If nothing else, Atobe didn’t want to hurt Fuji, and if there was a way for him to avoid doing so, he would embrace it. 

That was something, at least. It gave Tezuka hope.


	3. Topsy Turvy

Entrenched in deep thought, Atobe almost jumped out of his skin as the door was flung open and then slammed hard. His momentary weakness was drowned in a fit of temper. He whirled on the perpetrator. 

First, Tezuka forced him to re-evaluate his morals… What now? Oh, Fuji.

But why was the tensai so… fiery?

Fuji strode right up to Atobe, grabbed him by the collar of his silk pajamas, and unceremoniously thrust his tongue into the Hyoutei captain’s mouth. Not that he was complaining, but Atobe was almost afraid to respond to the unusually aggressive kiss.

After several seconds, Fuji wound down, his grip loosening as he pulled away. “Sorry,” he growled.

Atobe simply stared at him—thrown by the apology but highly aroused.

“…Fuji?” he risked, before the silence stretched too far, his voice coming out a low, silky purr despite his hesitation.

Fuji began to pace, rubbing his chin, cheek or whatever other exposed skin he could reach in a drastic escalation of a nervous habit that rarely came to light. “Keigo… I don’t know what to do.”

Overcoming his initial surprise and the haze of arousal, Atobe grabbed his lover and forced him to still. As Fuji waited with remarkable patience, Atobe studied the tight lines of his face, noted the tension humming in his body, and then pulled Fuji against his chest. He gently stroked soft brown hair, placing a gentle kiss at the crown of Fuji’s head.

“What is it?” he asked, though he already had his suspicions. There was no way this had nothing to do with Tezuka.

Fuji clutched tightly to Atobe's skin-hugging silk nightshirt, his whole body tense. “Tezuka knows,” he moaned, getting straight to the point. Atobe said nothing. It was his usual strategy for encouraging Fuji to voice his thoughts rather than to internalize as always and slowly go insane. “He saw the bruises… He was so angry. I’ve never seen him like that before. I don’t think he’ll ever let it go.” Atobe continued to stroke Fuji's hair and the tensai shifted, pressing his cheek to Atobe’s chest. “He jumped to the obvious conclusion so I… told him the truth. I told him that I like it this way. I made sure he understood, Keigo. You're not the monster you pretend.” For an instant, Fuji looked up at him in untainted admiration and Atobe felt a shiver of warmth but the expression quickly turned bitter. “He wouldn’t believe me. I had to spell it out for him. The way he looked at me…”

“Fuji,” Atobe breathed, slowly and deliberately closing his eyes in order to think without being confronted with his lover’s pained expression. He could say for certain that until today, he had been the only one ever to see Fuji lose control of his strict façade. Once he did, there was no going back. Atobe could only imagine how it must have been… Fuji would have reacted strongly when backed into a corner, and it was bluntly obvious how the tensai felt about his captain... Tezuka was as good as his reputation. He had barely let show the turmoil that must have been roiling in him all along. “Calm down,” he began. “Tezuka cares about you. He wouldn’t-”

Fuji pushed him away. “I told him. I told him everything. I told him how it started, and then I told him it was you… He was livid. It was so hard to convince him it’s not your fault.” Collapsing to his knees, Fuji looked bereft of hope and for the time being, Atobe simply stared down at him and watched he fell apart over another guy. “Now he’s knows that I’m a twisted little slut and everything is over. I fucked up.”

Despite everything, Atobe had never heard profanity come from Fuji’s lips yet still the tensai maintained a false pretense of calm in his level voice. Overcome by that one word, Atobe joined his lover on the floor and hugged him tightly, giving in to the urge he had been resisting because he knew it wasn’T what Fuji wanted of him. He buried his face in Fuji’s neck. “Don’t condemn yourself,” he said. “It’s not as bad as you think. Tezuka loves you. He won’t abandon you, and neither will I.”

Trembling viciously, Fuji finally gave in to the despair that had driven him this far. He went from distressed but placid to sobbing cries in moments. Atobe quietly held him, petting his hair and dropping gentle kisses on his wet cheeks.

This was the last thing he had expected after Tezuka’s visit. Perhaps he should have. In his own way, Fuji was a force of nature. Atobe could never quite gauge how his lover would react, but it was always in the manner least likely.

“What’s wrong with me?” Fuji suddenly gasped, his sobs winding down. 

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Atobe replied automatically, lying through his teeth.

There was plenty wrong with Fuji. He was completely self-destructive—but Atobe would be damned before he said that out loud.

“I drove him away,” Fuji moaned. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I panicked and I drove him away… Don’t let me do the same to you... Please, Keigo!”

Atobe weakly shook his head. “You won’t drive me away, Fuji. No matter how hard you try. You're stuck with me. Aren't you lucky?”

When Fuji kissed him hard once more, Atobe wondered if he was really the one being kissed, or if it was Tezuka. He knew his beloved tensai loved the Seigaku captain. The state Fuji was in right now, he probably didn't care whose lips stood in proxy.

It didn’t matter. Atobe wasn’t a saint. He didn’t mind receiving a kiss meant for another man, especially when it came to Fuji, Syusuke.

Fuji turned Atobe’s world upside down. He smashed through every preconception Atobe had ever made about himself, the world, and the sweet, quiet boy that mocked Japan through smiling eyes.

“I love you,” Atobe whispered against Fuji’s lips, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them.

Fuji froze, and Atobe went rigid, realizing what he’d said. Slowly, Fuji pulled back far enough to look him in the eyes. Atobe knew he should dissemble but he couldn’t quite think beyond the unreadable expression on Fuji’s face.

“I know,” Fuji said quietly after an extended period of time. 

His face was set in that familiar smile, but there was no warmth to it. Somehow, he seemed… disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” Atobe whispered.

Anyone else would have been blessed to ever receive such an incredible, heartfelt admission from his divine self, but… he felt completely unworthy. 

Tezuka’s determination came to mind, and he realized that he truly was unworthy. Atobe hadn’t been able to dissuade Fuji from his masochistic tendencies. In fact, he’d further encouraged them by giving in to provocation time and again.

Ignoring Atobe’s impending desolation, Fuji disentangled himself and got to his feet. “I should go. Neither of us seems to be in a stable frame of mind right now.” 

Atobe felt as if he’d been drenched in ice cold water. “It’s not too late,” he said quickly, stopping the tensai in his tracks. The moment he spoke, Atobe knew what he intended to say. He also knew that it was far from in his best interests and one way or another, things were about to go wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying what he felt had to be said. “Tezuka’s worried about you.” Fuji stopped, and slowly turned back to him, his eyes slits of blue ice. “He came to speak to me—don’t over-react.” Sighing in resignation that he was really saying this, Atobe rose to his feet, somewhat less gracefully than he would have liked. “He’s confused, just like we both are. He needed someone to talk to.” Fuji’s glare didn’t waver but he stayed where he was, silently waiting for Atobe to continue. “Whatever you believe he thinks of you… You’re wrong. He’s desperately trying to understand, and figure out how he can help you.” Now Atobe lowered his eyes, unable to continue under such intense observation. This was a hard thing for him to admit. “In that, he’s better than I am. I gave up too soon, but he’s determined find a way.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” the tensai asked coldly. Silence enveloped them and Atobe flinched as he felt a hand on his cheek. A change came over Fuji and his voice gentled. Why did he have to sound so seductive at the most inopportune times? “Are you being noble… Atobe-sama? Trying to send me into Tezuka’s strong, loving arms for my own good?” 

His pride struck, Atobe jerked to meet Fuji’s eyes with a fierce glare. “Nothing of the sort. I won’t relinquish you that easily,” he added for good measure.

“Good.” Fuji smiled slyly, his knee pressing against Atobe’s crotch, rubbing gently. He reached between them, his arms brushing Atobe’s silk-lined torso as he grabbed the hem of his own loose t-shirt and tugged it up over his head.

The sudden turn of events caught Atobe by surprise for what had to be the fiftieth time that evening. What was Fuji thinking after everything..? That was the problem, wasn’t it? For all he knew, Fuji didn’t think, and if he did, well who in the hell could read it?

“This is a bad idea,” Atobe whispered. “You’re highly emotional right now, and come to think of it, so am I…” Fuji shut him up by kissing him. The aptly named 'prodigy's' tongue slipped into his mouth, lapping at his own, and before he knew it, Atobe was responding, unable to resist Fuji’s kisses. Just the slightest brush of that tongue could make him hard, and by the time Fuji licked teasingly at Atobe’s lips in retreat, he was rock solid. He shook his head weakly from side to side. “We should stop… think about this…Tezuka…”

“I’m not concerned with Tezuka right now,” Fuji whispered, his breath and lips caressing Atobe’s as he spoke. “You just said you wouldn’t give me to him so easily. Was that a lie?”

“No,” Atobe swore. Belatedly, he caught ahold of the errant thought that had brought up his rival in the first place. With a little more clarity, he was able to voice his concern. He leaned back for a little distance to help purify his thoughts. “I just find it hard to believe that you don’t even want to think it over a little. I know how you feel about him, Fuji. How can you be satisfied with-”

“I’m satisfied with you,” Fuji growled.

Atobe closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Any minute now, he would be caught in Fuji’s web. He knew how it would play out, how it always played out. Somehow, even after the incredible events of the night they were about to settle into the same old despicable pattern…but though he hated his weakness and was utterly disgusted with himself, Atobe couldn’t help feeling a touch of joy at the thought that Fuji was still his.

Fuji’s fingers roamed over his body, manipulating all the right spots that would send the Hyoutei captain into a sexual frenzy. Just Fuji’s proximity caused Atobe to lose his breath. 

He rubbed his lips together. Fuji smelled so incredibly tantalizing. The taste of his tongue still lingered on Atobe's refined palate. The continuing, teasing touches were almost meek while the most innocent, inherently sexy sounds fell from his lips every so often... 

He was speaking. Probably had been for quite some time.

“...compared to Tezuka. I always wondered who was stronger between you two. Tennis is one thing, but physical strength… now that’s quite another-”

Tezuka. Why did it always come back to him? Fuji was ruthlessly reminding Atobe just how inadequate he felt when compared to the captain of Seigaku. Despite what he’d said earlier, Fuji was obviously pre-occupied with the oh-so-wonderful-Tezuka-sama. 

That was all it took. Atobe’s control snapped. He instantly forgot everything but the need to remind Fuji just who he damn well belonged to!

*

Fuji made a muffled sound as Atobe crushed his lips in a bruising kiss. He tilted his head back, almost smiling as Atobe gripped his arms painfully. 

He’d known the usual methods wouldn’t work tonight, so he’d concentrated on getting Atobe aroused. Once his lover was in that state of almost trance-like lust, all Fuji had to do was become irresistible prey. It wasn’t hard to tease Atobe and make him think he was being led on—no matter how much past experience he had to tell him Fuji was messing with his testosterone. 

Even so, Atobe had proved highly resilient tonight, so Fuji brought out his last resort. He would probably be reprimanded later but… he was desperate. He wanted Atobe to nail him, pound him into the floor. He wanted—needed—to stop thinking. The only way to do that was to flood himself with pain and pleasure, and Atobe was the key to that particular desire.

The moment he mentioned Tezuka, Atobe changed, scowling and clamping his fingers down on Fuji’s arms. Now, Fuji groaned as his lover’s teeth caught at his tongue. Wonderful, sharp pain flooded him, and he surrendered his body to Atobe’s whims.

Before long, Fuji was thrown to the ground, his pants yanked down around his knees as Atobe pinned him on his back. Roughly, the captain spread Fuji’s legs, positioning his rigid, weeping cock at the tensai’s entrance.

Biting into his own shoulder to muffle his scream as Atobe thrust into him, Fuji felt tears spring to his eyes. His body spasmed. Thumb and fingers digging into Fuji’s chin, Atobe kissed him hard before beginning to pound him ruthlessly into the carpet.

Maybe Fuji had gone too far this time. Atobe had completely snapped.

Once the initial agony wore off, Fuji found the ache pleasurable enough that he began to moan and arch his back. Atobe’s lips shifted from his own, alternately kissing and biting his neck.

Wrapping his legs around Atobe’s waist, Fuji screamed as a deep thrust ground against his prostate. The captain’s hand quickly covered his mouth. For a moment, Fuji couldn’t breathe, and terror sent an odd thrill straight to his cock, but then Atobe's hand slipped, and Fuji gulped in a breath.

“Don’t make a sound,” Atobe growled.

His nails raked down Fuji’s side, and the tensai held back a moan, too absorbed in sensory stimulation to remember that punishment was exactly what he wanted. Meanwhile, Atobe continued to fuck him hard, hips pistoning in and out. His thrusts grew harsh and reckless, driving harder and faster until he growled and bit down on Fuji’s earlobe, coming hard.

Fuji followed, stuffing his own fist into his mouth and biting deeply into half of his fingers as he fought to stifle the scream his orgasm threatened to tear from him. Atobe continued to rock until he was spent, his abs rubbing Fuji’s erection as it twitched and spurted.

*

Atobe wanted to ignore the feeling that he should be doing something but it wouldn’t go away. Eventually, he was jolted out of his semi-conscious state by the iron taste of blood on his tongue.

Immediately, he was filled with terror, as he always was when the first thing he became aware of was blood in his mouth. What had he done this time?

His lips were fastened around a piece of flesh… Fuji’s ear. He gently removed his teeth from the injured lobe, wincing as he saw that he had torn several layers of skin. 

Fuji was out. Gingerly, Atobe smeared away the blood. It was only a little, but enough to make him feel awful.

Fuji winced at the touch and came around with a hiss. His hand rose to grip Atobe’s hip.

“Will you be able to play tomorrow?” Atobe asked in a bland voice.

Fuji nodded minutely. His arm curled around Atobe’s waist, urging the captain to relax against the prone body beneath him. Even so, a small cry of pain escaped Fuji as Atobe settled.

Helplessly, he glared at the ground. Tezuka would probably beat him to a bloody pulp if he saw Fuji in this state. Honestly, he would beat himself to a pulp if he hadn’t been the one to cause it.

That was awful logic. How did Fuji manage to wreak such havoc with his mind?

Resolutely, he sat up and dragged Fuji into his arms, struggling to his feet and half carrying his lover to the bed. Cleaning up could wait until morning. Atobe lay down, arranging Fuji against his body, head resting on his chest. He softly stroked Fuji’s hair 

After they had been lying there in silence for several minutes, he spoke. “I don’t remember much after you said you were satisfied with me.” Taking a calming breath, Atobe struggled both to remember his actions and simultaneously block out the violent images his imagination provided. “Whatever you did, whatever you said… Don’t ever do it again.” 

Fuji was silent, and Atobe glanced down to see the tensai staring coldly across his chest at the far wall. “Swear it,” he demanded.

“I promise,” Fuji said obediently.

Atobe couldn’t sleep for a long time. Fuji often shifted in sleep and it was impossible to miss the muffled groans and hisses of pain whenever he moved. There was no way he’d make it through tomorrow without a heavy dose of pain killers.

As much as he despised the idea, Atobe decided that he had to talk to Tezuka. This couldn’t continue. He was slowly destroying the one thing in the world that he cherished more than himself.


	4. Battle Scars

Waking up long before dawn, Atobe instinctively reached out to touch Fuji’s hair. There was nothing there.

Carefully, in case Fuji had just shifted, he sat up and peered through the dark. The tensai was gone. He’d probably returned to his own room. Atobe sighed in resignation as he lay back down.

Belatedly, he wondered what the time was and turned his head to glance at the clock. 4:12am. Too damn early. 

Just how much sleep had he gotten, anyway?

Either way, he wasn’t getting back to sleep. He was up for good. 

As he lay there staring at the ceiling, his vision slowly adjusted to the dark. Was Fuji sleeping now? Quite probably not… Not after the abuse he’d taken last night. Exhaustion had gotten him to sleep in the first place but having woken up and cleared out, he was probably lying there awake just as Atobe was.

And Tezuka? What about him? Was he lying in bed, awake, thinking about how to play the savior?

Remembering his decision to speak to the Seigaku captain, Atobe rolled onto his side, staring across the dark room. When would he get the chance to do so? On that note, would Tezuka even have time to deal with him, let alone Fuji on top of his duties?

Atobe frowned. Of course. Tezuka would be privileged to make time for him. After all, he had started all this in the first place.

A smirk suddenly spread across Atobe’s lips. As soon as it was light enough, he could drag Tezuka out of bed to play a match. They could talk then. 

And if Tezuka refused him, well. Then he obviously wasn’t as committed to his precious Fuji as he claimed… Atobe’s precious Fuji. In fact, probably the only one Fuji wasn’t precious to was the tensai himself.

That was just going to have to change. Atobe couldn’t keep on like this. He wouldn’t. Even if it meant crawling to Tezuka.

Damn.

*

Tezuka jerked awake. Who the hell was banging on his door at… 5:49am? 

In an instant, he was up, thinking it must be an emergency. Perhaps Ryuzaki-sensei had had a relapse, or…

“…Atobe.”

“Good morning, Tezuka.”

Fuji. What had happened now? Calm. Tezuka just had to keep calm…

“What the hell have you done?”

Atobe feigned indignity – or perhaps it was real. “Done? Me? Why jump to such an accusation?” 

“It’s six am, Atobe. If you haven’t ‘done’ something, then why are you here?” Tezuka growled. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” It was not. “I want to play a match before the masses awake.”

Tezuka stared coldly at his rival. Was he joking?

Atobe rolled his eyes. “Not tricks. I’m not trying to send you back to rehab.” 

“Atobe, even if I wanted to-”

“You can play with your right hand, if you wish, just… play me,” Atobe asked, straight faced and serious.

Resentful at being woken so early after he’d been up late turning the situation over and over in his mind, Tezuka almost refused. Then, it occurred to him that this was probably Atobe’s take on begging. If he was willing to play against Tezuka’s weaker right hand, then this probably wasn’t about tennis at all. No way would the Hyoutei captain be satisfied with a half strength match.

“Fine. Give me twenty minutes. I’ll meet you on Court D.”

“You’ve got fifteen,” Atobe informed him in parting.

Cocky bastard.

Just to ruffle his feathers, Tezuka took seventeen minutes. Atobe must have been extremely serious as he didn’t even comment when Tezuka showed up late, simply tossing him a ball and moving to the court.

“Let’s hit a warm up rally,” he suggested.

Tezuka silently agreed, rotating his shoulder as he took his place. As it was Atobe who had called him out, he figured the guy would get to the point when he was ready. 

If he wasn’t certain this had to do with Fuji, Tezuka wouldn’t even entertain the match, but it certainly wasn’t like Atobe to be shy about anything. If the tensai wasn’t involved, then Tezuka couldn’t imagine what Atobe would want with him… At least not in his injured state.

Hitting a light serve, Tezuka watched his opponent’s eyes. There was a subtle but intense element to Atobe’s expression that was a little too much for a light match, let alone a warm-up. The return was harder and faster than it should have been, though Tezuka hit it back easily enough.

“Careful, Atobe. No need to overdo it and injure yourself.”

“Ha! You’re one to talk!”

The rally continued for about five minutes, both of them simply hitting to the ball to each other in order to properly wake up their bodies. Slowly, though, it got more and more intense, until the warm up evolved into a match.

“Tezuka.”

Pong.

“Ah?”

Just enough spin so that he didn’t have to run too much so early… Pong.

“Fuji came to my room after you left last night.”

Pong.

Pa… shikshikshik.

Zero Shiki Drop Shot.

“Did he?” 

Tezuka bent to retrieve the ball that rolled back to his feet. When he looked up, Atobe was at the net, gripping it, the only sign of his tension in his hands.

“Help me,” he said. It wasn’t a question in the least, but it also wasn’t quite an order. “Help me stop.” Now ‘that’ sounded suspiciously like begging. “No.” Atobe hung his head. “Help him stop… Please.”

“I’ve already said that I intend to-”

“I can’t take this anymore, Tezuka. I can’t do that to him again. Never again. Unless you help me now, I’ll just play into his hands again like last night… I’m not strong enough.”

When Atobe raised his face, his eyes were shining with tears. Tezuka’s jaw almost dropped but he reminded himself that, with Fuji, anything was possible. Even this monster, Atobe, was reduced to something pitiful by those sharp blue eyes.

Though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, Tezuka slowly approached the net. “What happened last night?” he asked quietly.

Atobe avoided his eyes. “He provoked me so far that I don’t really remember. I know it was bad… You’ll probably see the effects today if you get a chance to see him play...”

At last, the anger he’d been suppressing leaked out and Tezuka dropped the tennis ball, grabbing the front of Atobe’s shirt and snarling. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“I said-” Atobe grabbed Tezuka’s wrist, trying to loosen his grip. “-I don’t remember!”

They glared at each other for several long, tense seconds. Finally, Tezuka let go, backing up a step to keep himself from doing it again. He took a deep breath.

“How can you let him provoke you when you know its coming?” he asked through grit teeth. 

Atobe laughed derisively. “He isn’t called a tensai for nothing! He’s sly, clever, and incredibly insightful… Last night, he promised me he would never push me so far again.”

Tezuka raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Atobe laughed again. “It would be… If I didn’t trust him about as far as I can throw Kabaji.”

“You think he was lying,” Tezuka stated blandly.

“Blatantly,” Atobe sneered.

Taking off his glasses, Tezuka pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed, replacing the frames on his nose, and gripped the handle of his racket more tightly. He had to start planning.

“Do you think anyone will notice his condition?” He asked.

“I… honestly don’t know,” Atobe admit. “He’s very good at covering… You’re the first that’s ever noticed. Naturally, I can easily tell with my insight, but…” 

“It depends on how well others know him,” Tezuka finished. He picked up the ball once more and then turned and walked back to the service line. “Really, I should just let them figure it out and throw you in prison!” he said, hitting a rather more violent serve than he had intended. 

“That wouldn’t-” thunk “help Fuji.” Atobe barely returned the serve, backing up just in time not to get hit in the face.

Unfortunately, he was right, which was why Tezuka hadn’t turned the bastard in, yet. 

From that point on, they played a real match. Tezuka, playing with his right arm, held out valiantly against an opponent such as Atobe, but inevitably, he was on the losing end by the time several early risers followed the sounds of tennis to their court.

“Not bad for your weak side, Tezuka,” Atobe began as they silently agreed to stop before they drew a crowd. “Of course, I went easy on you.”

“Mmm, it was a good warm up match. I haven’t played right handed for some time,” Tezuka replied casually, clasping hands with his rival.

“Aan? Working hard to recover for the Nationals, I see… I wouldn’t expect any less of Seigaku’s Tezuka, Kunimitsu. Then again, you’re not the only one pushing yourself,” Atobe added.

“Oh?” Tezuka asked, wondering what Atobe was up to.

“Just last night I saw your pet tensai practicing by himself. Looked like he’d been at it for hours. If he’s not careful, he’ll burn himself out… I guess hard work is behind the tensai name after all.”

Tezuka noticed Fudomine’s Kamio Akira and Yamabuki’s Lucky Sengoku’s ears practically prick up at that… That rumor would spread faster than even Kamio could run.

“Why don’t you try worrying about your own team,” Tezuka shot at him as he went to pick up his towel and water bottle. 

Atobe laughed it off and the two went their separate ways.

*

Fuji awoke with a sneeze.


	5. Calm Before the Storm

Fuji awoke with a sneeze. That faded into a groan. Then he sneezed again and winced.

Great. A cold was all he needed. 

Slowly, he sat up, groaning in pain. He hurt all over. 

It wouldn’t be easy to hide. As much as he hated doing so, he was going to have to take some pain killers or else someone might suspect he was in bad shape. At this rate, even with the pain killers, he’d at least feel a strong ache all day.

In addition to the pain, Fuji felt awfully groggy. He’d left Atobe’s room after only a couple of hours sleep and had fallen back asleep what felt like three minutes ago… Truthfully, he couldn’t be sure how much sleep he had gotten, but he’d been too sore to drift off.

Belatedly, he snapped his head around to check if Yuuta was in; thankfully not. Fuji didn’t want to have to explain to his brother why he woke up moaning. They were on bad enough terms as it was.

Stupid Atobe. Why did he have to go and get all emotional? If he hadn’t confessed his love like that, Fuji would have been content to sleep beside him and not risk his brother finding out. As it was, Fuji now had to hide the extent of the damage from Atobe himself, otherwise he might not be able to get what he wanted anymore—what he needed.

All of his life he’d been craving the punishment without understanding the need, and now that he finally had relief from the voices within he couldn’t just give it up. Not even for Tezuka.

Especially not for Tezuka.

Tezuka was too good for him. Under that cold, proud front, the Seigaku captain was too kind and caring. Even he probably didn’t realize just how much. 

He didn’t deserve Tezuka. He didn’t deserve to be loved and taken care of like he was sure Tezuka would do.

He didn’t even deserve Atobe when all was said and done. The guy might be a cocky narcissist but he had reason to be. He was talented, clever, and admittedly beautiful—and beneath it all, he had a good heart. 

No, Fuji didn’t deserve either of those two, but he did deserve the pain. As long as Atobe continued to punish him, that was all that mattered. Tezuka could never do that, and even if he could… Fuji loved him too much to sully him. When he really thought about it, he didn’t want Tezuka to ever dirty his hands with someone as pathetic as himself.

Anyway, those two probably only thought they loved him because he was a tensai. Talent was attractive—Fuji ought to know; he certainly had a type. That was why everyone loved him—except for Yuuta. His brother was the only one that saw him for what he really was—a screw up of a human being. 

Fuji had grown up with a skewed sense of love. His love for his little brother had pushed Yuuta away so he tried to adjust by treating those around him with a kind of apathy until that went awry as well. It was confusing. There just didn’t seem to be a balance that worked all around.

Fuji might seem sweet and friendly on the surface but holding himself apart from others had nurtured a dark sense of humor in him. He protected the ones he cared about from those who would hurt them, while subtly scarring them himself with the games that came to him as second nature. His brother, his parents, his sister… Ever since he was a child he had been playing games with their feelings. Saeki had been no different. It was Fuji who had taken their friendship to a deeper level but he was also the one scared into ending it abruptly. It had started to feel like too much of a good thing and Fuji didn’t deserve good things.

Now he was old enough to understand his actions and how they affected others but still he messed with people at every chance—it was ingrained into him; he didn’t know how else to interact with others. So he accepted his retribution from Atobe’s hands—and that, too, was part of his particular brand of manipulation, wasn’t it? Atobe, who was trying so hard to change and become a better person, could not help but give into his baser instincts when Fuji pulled on the right strings.

The tensai was confident that he could control Tezuka just as well. He could probably coerce his captain into giving him such a sound beating he would feel it for weeks. He also knew that Tezuka would never forgive himself. He wasn’t like Atobe. He was too pure. That was what it came down to, wasn’t it? Atobe had it in him; cruelty was a dark part of his nature that sat mostly untapped because Atobe’s will was too strong to act upon it.

With a sigh of resignation, Fuji pushed the thoughts chasing their tails around his mind into a little corner, then proceeded to pack them into one of those space making bags that would drive all the air out and make them even smaller and less noticeable. There. All packed away for safe keeping without taking up any room at all…

He smiled slightly at his own eccentricity. Tensai… It was just a fancy word for lunatic, really.

With another groan of pain, Fuji crawled out of bed and set about getting ready. By the time he made it down to breakfast, the pain killers were starting to kick in and he could walk normally with a secret gritting of his teeth. 

As he joined Echizen, who was also straggling, Fuji noticed the lingering stares of most of those finishing up their breakfast. At first he felt somewhat paranoid, considering his condition, and ran a mental check of bruises and their locations. There shouldn’t be any showing…

Perhaps he was simply the topic of the latest rumor. With so many opposing teams holed up in one little camp, there was a new rumor circulating every few hours. 

“What is it this time?” he mumbled to the rookie.

Echizen glanced around, looked blandly—sleepily even—back at Fuji, and shrugged before returning to his eggs.

Frowning, Fuji forgot his own sudden popularity for a moment and peered closer at the boy. The circles under his eyes seemed a little darker this morning. Though Echizen usually slept in, he tended to make up for time by practically inhaling his food. This morning, he seemed to be struggling to eat.

Though Fuji was intensely curious, he bit back the query that was on the tip of his tongue. After all, he didn’t exactly want questions asked of himself, so he shouldn’t scrutinize others lest they return the favor. 

Despite his instinct that he should look out for his kouhai a little better, Fuji kept his mouth shut and let the boy be, concentrating on finishing his own breakfast and getting out to the courts to warm up. Maybe then he could find out what the deal was with all the stares and whispers.

*

Yuuta watched his brother. He wasn’t keeping an eye out or any crap like that, just watching. He was allowed to watch. Couldn’t hurt.

Stupid tensai. Syusuke thought he was so smart and all, but if he really was, he wouldn’t do such stupid things; like underestimating Yuuta, for instance—or seeing that bastard Atobe.

Yuuta wasn’t half as blind as Syusuke seemed to think. Rather, he’d noticed the tensai sneaking out on the first night of camp and had followed the next time—right to Atobe’s room. It hadn’t taken too long to add up two and two and figure out that those bruises appearing where Syusuke thought no one noticed them were showing up after the tensai spent a night with the Hyoutei captain.

Stupid fucking tensai.

If he wanted to go out night after night and get his stupid ass beaten up, then that was his own problem. Yuuta wasn’t watching because of that. It was just that… If someone noticed Syusuke wasn’t up to scratch, and they maybe took advantage of that and beat him before Yuuta did… Well, that would be annoying.

Someone like Mizuki would definitely press that kind of underhanded advantage. Or Atobe…

Why was his brilliant brother sleeping with that self obsessed, over-rated, monkey-faced asshole? 

Yuuta had seen Syusuke rip into opponents for less than willingly trying to destroy the career of someone he loved. Yes, Mizuki had been willing to sacrifice Yuuta’s growth, and Kirihara had badly injured Tachibana-san, but that was nothing compared to what Atobe did to Tezuka. 

Syusuke barely knew Tachibana but he was in love with Tezuka. Why take revenge on one, and then sleep with the other, greater evil? It just didn’t make any sense.

Several times, Yuuta had wondered if Atobe was threatening his brother, but as likely as that seemed, he knew Syusuke would never respond to a threat against himself. Maybe if Atobe was threatening someone else…

But what bloody use was a tensai if he couldn’t outsmart someone like Atobe? 

If nobody was being threatened, then that meant Syusuke went willingly, knowing he would get hurt. That made even less sense.

Yuuta really wanted to know what was going on with his brother so he watched—not out of concern, just curiosity and other personal issues. That was all. Really.

*

“Yuuta,” Fuji sighed as he sauntered up behind his brother during the first match of the day. “What exactly have I done to warrant three challenges and a lot of stares?”

“Someone spread a rumor,” Yuuta replied, oddly readily. “Said they saw you out training late last night and that’s why you look so worn out.”

Fuji glanced sideways at his brother. “What makes you so sure it’s a rumor?” Obviously not because Fuji had been safe and warm in bed last night, because he wasn’t.

“Because I know the real reason you look like shit, and where you were last night,” Yuuta snapped under his breath before walking off to observe from the other side of the court.

The tensai’s heart stopped for a moment. Yuuta knew? How could Yuuta know? Yuuta wasn’t allowed to know! If he ever found out… If he had found out…   
But how? Most likely he had jumped to an incorrect conclusion. Let him think what he would. It couldn’t be as bad as the truth.

And what did he mean, Fuji looked like shit? Fuji looked just fine. He was moving normally and the bags under his eyes were no darker than usual. The bruises were all well concealed, he was sure. What on Earth was Yuuta talking about?

Well, at least Fuji finally knew what was going on. Atobe had spread that rumor. That explained people’s comments of, “All work and no play makes a tensai, eh?” and “Burning the candle at both ends, Fuji? Careful you don’t burn out… Looking a bit frayed around the edges…”

That was just like damn Atobe. He probably thought he was doing Fuji a favor by giving him an excuse, but all he was doing was causing more trouble. It wasn’t that Fuji cared about his reputation—people could think whatever they liked, it would just fuel his games—however, he wasn’t in the shape to be receiving challenges from such tough opponents right now.


	6. Flash Flood

Flash Flood

Tezuka had expected to spend the day unable to focus on anything but Fuji who was out of his sight, and should be out of his mind. Miraculously, he almost was… because the only thing that could take Tezuka’s mind off of Fuji was a badly playing Echizen. The rookie was making all kinds of mistakes in his match against Oishi, and he looked dead on his feet.

Irritated, Tezuka called an end to the match and all but dragged Echizen off the courts and away from the other players. 

“What’s wrong with you?” he queried bluntly.

“Nothing,” Echizen replied, not meeting Tezuka’s eyes.

“If you’re sick, just tell me. It’s dangerous to push yourself, and-”

“I’m not sick,” Echizen cut in.

Tezuka was about to snap, but he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. First Fuji’s deceptions, and now he had to deal with Echizen acting like a brat. What was next? Would Kaidoh and Momoshiro finally kill each other?

“If you’re not sick,” he began calmly, “then why are you losing ‘4 - 1’ to Oishi who we both know you could beat if you tried.”

Echizen didn’t answer.

Tezuka turned away from him before he snapped, working very hard to keep his expression neutral. It was then that he spotted Fuji playing several courts away… just as the tensai tripped and fell, hitting the ground hard, his racket skidding from his hand. 

Turning away from that sight was one of the hardest things Tezuka had ever had to do, but in an instant he understood what was happening and made the decision to ignore it. Atobe’s rumor had sent challengers flocking to Fuji to try and take advantage of his “dragging feet” after such a “hard, late night of practice.” Meanwhile, the injury to Fuji’s body was taking its toll, giving legitimacy to the rumor.

“He’s the one you should be worried about,” Echizen muttered, forgotten at Tezuka’s side.

“Fuji is not in my care at the moment,” Tezuka retorted. “You are. Now, either you go to bed and rest, right now, or I’m sending you home.”

For a moment, Echizen looked as though he would argue but then a look of relief barely graced his face and he nodded. “Fine. Tell them I’m sick.”

“Echizen!” Tezuka called after him. “This isn’t over. You’re going to fill me in later!”

*

Ryouma yawned as he headed for his room. He was exhausted. He’d barely slept since Tezuka returned. He just kept tossing and turning all night. A few nights ago, he’d given up and taken to going for walks after Momo was asleep, and returning before his roommate woke up. He took naps every so often—mostly because he had no choice, simply falling asleep where he was in the warm sun, or whatnot.

He was used to being sleepy in the mornings… during class… at lunch times... after practice… and, well, generally whenever he wasn’t playing tennis, but this was different. The sheer amount of hours he’d been awake were catching up to him and it was beginning to show. He had to sleep and, for once, at least he knew he would, weary as he was.

*

Yuuta, ignoring astonished stares in addition to the shock he could feel from the big brother beside him, helped Fuji back to their room. His brother’s arm was draped around his neck by the time they reached their hallway. The tensai was reaching his limit.

“Thank you,” Fuji breathed, smiling sunnily as if Yuuta hadn’t spent the past five minutes rattling on about what a useless moron he had for a brother.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Yuuta growled.

“Perish the thought,” Fuji said, still with that bright, radiant smile.

How he could manage an expression like that when he was all but unconscious, Yuuta would never understand.

Fuji had played match after match all afternoon from the moment they were given rare free time to challenge each other. One after the other, Fuji beat back his opponents because he had to but any idiot could see he was nowhere near his usual skill level.

Finally, Yuuta called a stop to it, growling at everyone and saying that if anyone was going to beat Syusuke, it would be him. He then called them all cowards for trying to ruin the reputation of someone who wasn’t at full strength, grabbed his brother by the hand, and dragged him off the courts. Fuji was leaning on him as they entered the main building. 

Others had followed behind, some trying to see just how much Fuji deteriorated as they walked, others—those who had not taken advantage of the tensai’s condition—to keep an eye on him.

Someone muttered about finding Hanamura-sensai but Yuuta snapped that that was a stupid idea. Fuji was just tired and once he got plenty of rest, then Yuuta would beat him and show them all up.

They were left alone.

Yuuta deposited his brother on the bed, and went to the window, looking out. It was getting dark outside, now. The consecutive challenges had been going on since early afternoon.

“I just… don’t want anyone to think it’s an easy win when I beat you,” he felt compelled to explain. He heard Syusuke draw breath to speak, but there was something he had to say before anything else. “Aniki... You don’t deserve this.”

Syusuke was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Challengers are always at my door. It’s nothing new.”

Yuuta almost snapped that that wasn’t what he meant but he kept his mouth shut. He did reopen it to tell his brother to stay put and rest before he headed out. Half of him wanted to find Atobe and pummel him into the ground. The other half continued down to dinner, because Yuuta would be damned if he was going to let his brother’s stupid choices get in the way of his routine.

*

Fuji slept for a while but when he woke up, he was starving. It was just early enough that he could grab some last minute dinner so he dragged himself out of bed, threw on some fresh clothes, and went downstairs. The nap had given him his legs back, at least. 

Yuuta wasn’t in their room and he wasn’t at dinner, so he was probably watching TV in the common room. Fuji finished his dinner off in record time—devouring the soy drenched food—and decided to show himself to prove that he was alright. However, when he reached the common room, he saw that Yuuta wasn’t there.

For some reason, Fuji had a bad feeling about that. He couldn’t think of anywhere else his brother might be but all of Yuuta’s friends were downstairs so knocking on their doors was no help. Yuuta would come back to their room eventually and then they could talk about whatever fake reason Yuuta thought he had discerned and Fuji could defuse things. In the meantime, he figured he’d better go see Atobe. After all, the Hyoutei captain would have been given a full report on the day by now, and would probably come looking for him sooner or later out of concern or anger.

As he reached Atobe’s hallway, Fuji broke into a run. There were sounds of a fight coming from his lover’s room.

*

Atobe had tried to explain. He had tried to reason. He had even apologized. 

Who would ever have thought the runt to be so strong?

As blows rained down on him, he threw his hands up to protect his face. He would never forgive a broken nose. His face was too refined to be made more handsome by ruggedness.

“Yuuta! Stop!” came a distraught cry from the door.

Briefly, Atobe felt even more weight on top of him, and then suddenly he was free to move again. He sat up, somewhat dazed as he gingerly touched his fingers to a split lip.

Fuji held his brother from behind, hugging him tightly and muttering almost incoherently into the snarling boy’s ear. Slowly, Yuuta calmed down, and Atobe felt safe enough to speak without being assailed by a berserk younger brother.

“Fuji, would you please explain to your brother that I’ve never hurt you against your will?” he said quietly, his eyes meeting a tired blue.

*

“Yuuta, please calm down. I don’t know what you think you know, but you have to calm down and listen to me. You’ve got it wrong.”

Fuji held his struggling brother in his arms. He was close to tears. The realization that Yuuta knew something close to the truth hit him like a ton of bricks. 

When Atobe calmly asked him to explain to Yuuta his failings, he glanced around hesitantly, if only to prolong the moment when the words would have to leave his mouth, or condemn his lover to further physical trauma. “We seem to have attracted some attention,” he said with a nervous laugh. 

“I assure you, it is fine to return to whatever you were doing,” Atobe said to the people who had gathered around his door.

“Are you sure?” asked Shishido from Hyoutei. “Atobe, you’re bleeding.”

“A little blood is of no consequence to me; I’ll have Kabaji see to it later. Go on, scram.” 

Shishido was the last to leave, rather reluctantly as he glanced at Yuuta and Fuji. On his way out, he reluctantly shut the door in response to a signal from Atobe.

“I should tell them all, and then we’d see how much they respect you,” Yuuta spat.

Though it was clear he was addressing Atobe, Fuji cut in as if Yuuta had meant the words for him. “I suspect they would be quite shocked and think me rather disgusting,” he said quietly. “Yuuta, you don’t understand-”

“Unless you’ve been allowing this great oaf to beat you senseless, then I understand very well!” Yuuta snapped, and Fuji heard the tears in his eyes, even if he couldn’t see them.

“Hardly senseless,” Fuji whispered in return, filled with shame and humiliation as he once again realized that his beloved little brother had somehow discovered his dirty rotten secret. “I…”

“Stop it!” Yuuta yelled, and Atobe hissed at him to quiet down. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it. If you… If you could let him… If you really want… Damn it, aniki! Yes, senseless! Because there’s no sense in willingly getting yourself hurt!”

“Yuuta. I know this is going to be hard for you to hear, and you’ll probably lose any respect you might have left for me, but what Atobe does to me is against ‘his’ will. I’ve shamelessly used and manipulated him to get what I want, and I’m very touched that you did this for me, but I don’t deserve your protection.”

Though Fuji’s voice was very calm to begin with, a little tremble crept in with the last words—the first of the cracks in his surface armor. Inside, he was utterly terrified. Yuuta was going to hate him completely, but worse, he was going to be ashamed of the big brother he should have been proud of.

Yuuta slumped, seeming to go limp, as though all the air had been let out of him. “I don’t get it,” he muttered.

“Obviously, you do,” Atobe pitched in. “Denial isn’t going to make it all go away…

“Shut up, Atobe,” Fuji snapped. He suddenly felt very weary. Yuuta was the last person he wanted to hurt with his masochistic tendencies. Yuuta was the last person he ever would have wanted to find out. So, what now? Atobe’s goading certainly wasn’t helping… “Yuuta… I don’t really know what to say to you.”

“Let go.”

“Yuuta…”

“Let the fuck go of me, right now!”

Reluctantly, Fuji did, handing his head as his brother scrambled to his feet. 

Yuuta stared at him for a moment. “I can’t believe you’re this fucked up,” he spat before getting out of there as quickly as possible and slamming the door.

Fuji winced.

*

What could Atobe possibly say? It wasn’t his fault that Yuuta had found out, so he had nothing to apologize for – after all, he was the one who would soon be sporting bruises along with his split lip. He was afraid to look in the mirror for fear of how terrible ‘that’ would look…

“That’s… the last straw, isn’t it?” Fuji quietly asked of himself, staring at the floor.

He seemed more broken than Atobe had ever seen him.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Atobe argued, though he really wasn’t sure he was right.

Slowly, Fuji’s eyes raised to him. “Keigo…” he whispered, a strange sort of light in his eyes.

Atobe recognized that look. He’d seen that morbid hope in Fuji’s eyes far too often. He’d seen it every time the tensai began to weave his sticky little webs… Fuji was hurt. When Fuji was hurt, he sought physical pain. And that’s what Atobe meant to him. Pain.

“No, Fuji,” Atobe told him gravely. “Not this time.”

“Keigo… I need you. Please, be here for me,” Fuji whispered.

They were both slowly getting to their feet, Fuji turning predatory, Atobe wary. He always seemed to be wary around Fuji.

Briefly, he considered just how sad that was. He was constantly wary of the one he loved, and always desperately wishing for the peace he couldn’t have.

“Your brother needs you. Go after him,” Atobe ordered the twisted tensai.

Fuji shook his head. “I can’t…”

Atobe backed away, also shaking his head. “You have to. If you don’t go now, you’ll lose him forever.” ‘And if you go now, I’ll probably lose you just the same…’ “Go, Fuji!”

Tears in his eyes, Fuji back up one step, weakly shaking his head, then one more, small step… Then he turned around and ran, fling the door open and tearing down the hallway.

Atobe stared after him and fell back on his ass, holding a hand to his swelling jaw. He went into battery save mode. If he thought about it now, he’d explode, so he just sat there, staring at his open doorway and not thinking.


	7. Aftermath

Tezuka heard from Hyoutei’s Shishido about the one-sided fight. He told the boy to go back to his room, and that he’d take care of it quietly. 

By the time he got to Atobe’s room, the rival captain was alone, slumped on the floor, his fingers gingerly exploring his swelling face. He looked as though he’d checked out for the night.

“Atobe.”

Slowly, Atobe looked up at him. Once he recognized who he was gawking at, he seemed to snap out of it. “Ahn? Well, if it isn’t Tezuka… Tell me, do you think the swelling is going to ruin my aura? I’m not used to a day going by without a camera flash here and there…”

Tezuka almost snorted in derision but settled instead for offering Atobe a hand. Surprisingly, Atobe actually accepted it.

“And here I was hoping Fuji, Yuuta would have knocked some sense into you,” Tezuka muttered seriously, though he anticipated and accepted that the insult would be taken as a joke.

Even so, Atobe looked dispirited. “I think the one who’s had sense knocked into him might be Fuji… I suppose I should hope so.”

“What happened?” Tezuka asked quietly.

“That brat of a brother couldn’t handle the truth and ran off, so, of course, Fuji tried to seduce me as always… I told him to get out of here—to put his brother before himself, and before me… and he did.” Atobe looked sadly into Tezuka’s eyes. “I think this might be the end.”

Tezuka was never opposed to a good cliché. “You did the right thing, Atobe.”

“Of course. Ore-sama does not make mistakes,” Atobe scoffed haughtily.

Even so… “If you ever want to-”

“You are the last person I would ever ‘want’ to talk to,” Atobe cut in, the cold words belied by the hurt in his eyes, begging Tezuka to leave it alone. 

Tezuka took the hint and backed off. He turned to go but Atobe had one last thing to say.

“Treat him well, Tezuka,” he said quietly. “Prove you can be better than me.”

“I will,” Tezuka answered simply before leaving.

*

“Yuuta!”

The younger Fuji tried to jerk free of the hand grasping his arm, but sometimes his brother could be stronger than he seemed.

“Please stop. Listen to me,” Syusuke begged.

Yuuta shook his head. “What’s the point. There’s nothing you could say that would make-”

“Yuuta, please!” Syusuke moaned, his voice cracking harshly.

They were outside, halfway to the tennis courts, so nobody was around to hear the tensai breaking down; nobody but Yuuta. Could he really just walk away?

He turned and found he was hardly able to look his brother in the eye. He was shocked, disgusted, and angry… but it cut him to hear calm and calculating Syusuke sounding so desperate. 

“I don’t want to push you away,” Syusuke almost sobbed, instantly dragging Yuuta into a tight hug.

Yuuta responded instinctively, lifting his arms around his brother. He didn’t know what he might say if he tried to speak, so he just kept his mouth shut.

“I’m sorry,” Syusuke breathed eventually. “I’m sorry I put you through this. I’m sorry I’m so screwed up. I’ve been selfish; taking care of my own needs before-”

“Don’t say that!” Yuuta growled.

“No, it’s true, I-”

“I meant that ‘needs’ crap!” Yuuta snapped, pushing Syusuke away. The stupid tensai just didn’t get it. “Don’t pretend you don’t have a choice, like you’re some pathetic victim,” he sneered. “That’s such bullshit! Yeah, you have been selfish. I don’t want to see you hurt anymore than I want to see you up on that stupid, shiny pedestal!”

Syusuke looked as if he’d been kneed in the balls. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, shell-shocked.

“Stop apologizing!” Yuuta growled.

“S-” … “No, I have to. I am sorry. Yuuta, tell me what to do. Tell me how to get my little brother back and I’ll do it, I swear.”

Damn. Why did Syusuke have to shove all the pressure onto him? 

Yuuta took a deep breath. This was his chance, right? This was his opportunity to stop the abuse—self-initiated or otherwise. He turned around, ready to walk away; not wanting to be disappointed by his brother’s reaction. 

“Break up with him. Don’t see Atobe anymore,” he demanded.

“O-okay,” Syusuke agreed, much faster than Yuuta had expected.

Too easy. There had to be an angle… “Or anyone else! Don’t ever date someone who’ll hurt you again!” he clarified, whirling to face his brother once more. “No one-night stands, no flings, no putting yourself in danger of any kind—and don’t hurt yourself, or punish yourself, or…”

“Okay,” Syusuke breathed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “If that’s what it will take for you to forgive me, I’ll do it… I’ll try, really I will.”

Damn his stupid, tensai ass to hell! 

A moment of weakness and Yuuta was looking sheepishly at the dirt as he scuffed it with his boot, muttering, “It’s not about me, moron; I just don’t want to see you hurt. You should…” He took a deep breath. This was going to be really hard to say, because he’d had a hard enough time reconciling Syusuke with that narcissistic prick Atobe. “Tezuka loves you. He’d take care of you. You should be with him.”

Before Syusuke could say anything else, Yuuta took off quickly, heading back to the dorms. He made straight for the common area because, shaken as he was, he didn’t want be in their room where Syusuke could catch up to him and continue the confrontation.

*

Fuji stared after his brother, shivering slightly in the cold night air. He wanted so badly to be able to keep his promise to Yuuta—because Yuuta was the only one in his life who had ever really mattered to him; he was something precious that Fuji should always strive to protect—but he just didn’t know if he could in this. 

Breaking up with Atobe was easier than it probably should have been—in truth, it was already done the moment he left that room. He cared for the damn narcissist but Atobe—and anyone else—would always lose to Yuuta. Stopping himself from seeking pain in some new fashion, though… that would be a lot harder, perhaps impossible. 

Left to his own devices, Fuji’s destructive nature would prevail with little resistance. What Fuji needed was an anchor. Someone like… 

No, Tezuka was too good, too pure a person to drag down into his darkness. How could Fuji even think of using him like that? Or maybe he just wanted so desperately to see Tezuka as something untainted that he was afraid of what his own influence might awaken?

But he believed in Tezuka. He believed that Tezuka’s stupid, sappy promises and straightforward honesty counted for something because, if he didn’t, then he was going to lose his brother for good, and with him the only light in his life.

*

Tezuka had searched for the Fuji brothers but he hadn’t been able to find either one until much later when he glimpsed Yuuta watching T.V. with some of his teammates. Fuji wasn’t there, though, and he didn’t want to cause any more alarm or rumors by calling Yuuta out. Eventually, Tezuka gave up his search for the tensai and returned his room, intending to sleep off his worries so that he could better address them in the morning. Somehow, he snagged a thread of sleep and settled into a strange series of dreamscapes through which he searched for Fuji even though he couldn’t remember why.

Late into the night, Tezuka started awake. Something had woken him but he wasn’t sure… There was light pouring in from the hallway and in it, a silhouette.

He sat up, fumbling for his glasses and failing to find them.

“I’m through with Atobe,” Fuji whispered.


	8. Trial of Faith

The door loomed before him and Fuji swallowed back fear and despair. It was late. He had been unable to stay in the room he shared with Yuuta. All Fuji had seen since his brother had come upstairs was Yuuta’s back, silently turned on him in damnation so he had lain silently in bed and thought hard—occasionally studying his brother’s back across the room and contemplating the choice he had been given—and finally come to a decision.

He reached for the handle instead of knocking, sure that Tezuka would be asleep. If it was locked, he would turn around and… and do what? He was just trying to give himself an excuse. 

As it was, the door was unlocked. Fuji pushed it open and peered through the dark, wondering what he planned to do next. When Tezuka sat up sleepily and squinted at him, he blurted out the first words that surfaced.

“I’m through with Atobe,” he gasped. 

If Tezuka turned him away now…

Time lagged. 

“Come in,” Tezuka invited.

Fuji closed the door, making his way over to Tezuka in the dark. He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling like a naughty child apologizing for some misdeed.

“I’m sorry I put you through all this,” he offered.

“I’m not the one who deserves an apology,” Tezuka replied.

Fuji looked down at his hands. He’d already apologized to Yuuta, even if he hadn’t much of a reaction. As for Atobe, there wasn’t much you could say in the way of apology after a certain point. 

“I’m apologizing, anyway,” he breathed. “I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore…”

Fuji was pulled into Tezuka’s embrace. He turned his face into the strong, muscled chest, inhaling Tezuka’s scent.

“I don’t know where to go from here,” he confessed. “I don’t know if I can survive without… without…”

“Shhh,” Tezuka whispered. “It doesn’t have to be like that. I’ll prove it.”

Fuji pulled far enough out of Tezuka arms to look up at his face, barely visible in the lamplight filtering in through the window. He stared into deep brown shadows, feeling as though he was about to step through a dark, scary doorway. 

Without a word, Tezuka brushed his cheek with a feather-light caress. Slowly, he drew close until their lips touched softly and gently.

It was the sweetest kiss Fuji had ever experienced, and it was a kiss with Tezuka who he loved. All of his fears somehow melted away.

Tezuka undressed him slowly, calloused hands caressing his smooth skin and sending shivers right through him. It was like his clothes just fell away piece by piece, and Tezuka was just there to pleasure him and destroy every last doubt through positive reinforcement.

He sighed as Tezuka lowered him to the mattress, ever so gently brushing their lips together. As he tried to wind his arms about the captain’s waist, his hands were apprehended and placed teasingly at his sides. 

He got the point, though it was hard not to respond as Tezuka’s lips played over his skin. In fact, he was so distracted by pleasure and frustration that he forgot to argue as Tezuka began to prepare him, one maddeningly gentle finger at a time.

He had to admit, though… the way Tezuka did it, it felt good. Really good.

The first real moan escaped his throat. Until then, he’d made curious little mewling sounds and whimpers that sounded entirely foreign to his ears. Now, his desire was building beyond the sweet, peaceful ache towards something more desperate. Surely Tezuka had to be feeling it too…

But Tezuka held back. He continued to treat Fuji like a porcelain doll in need of careful polishing… cleaning. That’s what he was doing, wasn’t it? Tezuka was wiping clean Fuji’s body and mind, lavishing him with a fresh start.

Finally, Tezuka loomed over him, and Fuji could hardly breathe for anticipation. He begged silently with his eyes, knowing all the while that Tezuka was going to take this damned slowly—and unexpectedly loving it.

Lifting first one leg to hook on his hips, then the other, Tezuka crawled between them. Then, he leaned down and nuzzled Fuji’s neck whispering, “I think I’ve wanted this for a very long time.”

Out of nowhere, a sob welled up in Fuji’s throat, and tears slipped down his cheeks. “Me too,” he breathed, a moment before Tezuka kissed him deeply.

As they kissed, he felt Tezuka’s slick erection nudge at his entrance and almost forced himself down on it instinctually—but he didn’t; he refrained—and he was rewarded by a new pleasure. Sensation was everything as Tezuka slowly, gently pressing into his body. Then, he could hardly think, winding his arms about Tezuka’s neck and arching his head back.

It wasn’t just a physical joining; it felt like they were really together in every way, shape, and form, and it was the most incredible thing Fuji had ever experienced. They moved together, breathed together, moaned together…

Tezuka felt amazing inside of him, every little movement sending sparks of pleasure through him. He was aching hard, his tip dripping persistently, and yet, he was in no rush. He wouldn’t have minded staying like that forever.

Suddenly, Tezuka stopped, waiting for Fuji to look at him, allowing them both to catch their breath. Fuji studied the captain’s eyes, finding things there that he’d never seen before.

Tezuka’s fingers trailed over Fuji’s skin, his mouth, then, Tezuka gently traced Fuji’s lips with his thumb. His eyes had been focused there but a moment later he looked up, and for some strange reason, Fuji almost came right then.

“I love you,” Tezuka whispered. Then he moved, thrusting deep into Fuji once, twice, three times, and they came together. Each orgasm seemed to somehow enhance and prolong the other, and they stayed locked together for some time, trembling and tense until the intense pleasure subsided.

Fuji went limp, sinking into the mattress, feeling almost nothing but Tezuka’s weight and the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through him. He didn’t know an orgasm could be like that…

He wanted to feel like that again and again. He wanted to feel loved, and warm, and safe. He liked this “making love.” …He loved it.

And that terrified him. 

As Tezuka’s weight moved off his body, Fuji felt a pang of fear. If he didn’t run now, he might lose control over his life along with the sweet pain that buried his guilt. He might lose everything that was comfortable and familiar.

“That was nice,” he said, the words coming from a place of sheer panic. “I’ve always wanted to try it like that, just once. Thank you, Tezuka.” He got up, pulling the sheet with him and wrapped it around his hips.

*

Tezuka rolled off of Fuji, stretching out and smiling up at the ceiling. He felt great. So loose, and free of tension….

“That was nice. I’ve always wanted to try it like that, just once. Thank you, Tezuka.”

Tezuka opened his eyes, unaware that he’d even closed them. He looked up to see Fuji wrapping himself in the bed sheet and walking away.

“Fuji? What-”

“I thought I might go and see Atobe; make a comparison,” Fuji told him casually.

Tezuka sat up, trying to find an alternative meaning to those words that made more sense than what it seemed like Fuji was saying. “You said it was over between you and Atobe,” he growled.

“Of course I did,” Fuji replied with a laugh like breaking china. “I wouldn’t have gotten you into bed, otherwise.”

*

Fuji couldn’t turn around. He pulled his clothes on, willing his fingers to stop trembling.

He had to cut this off now. He had to get dressed and get out of there before he ran back into Tezuka’s arms.

He couldn’t turn around because if he saw Tezuka’s shock, anger, pain, or whatever awful emotion he was showing, then Fuji would not be able to walk away. If he didn’t walk away now, he didn’t think he ever would.

“You’re lying,” Tezuka mumbled, his voice low and gruff as though he was fighting back powerful emotion.

Fuji returned and sat on the edge of the bed, having found his shoes. “No, I’m telling the truth, for once. I don’t want you to think this will ever happen again. Like I said, it was nice but I don’t think it’s for me. The thought of repeating all that romantic crap makes me feel ill. Sorry, but once was enough.” How Fuji managed to keep his voice light and careless was a mystery even to himself. His toes were curled within his shoes and he almost ripped his shirt as he jerked it on over his head.

“You used me?” Tezuka growled.

He sounded closer. He must have found his feet. Fuji had to leave before he was forced to see that beautiful face contorted in hate.

“I don’t believe you!” Tezuka snapped, grabbing him by the shoulder.

Fuji did not look up. He couldn’t afford to. He needed to find an excuse for not looking Tezuka in the eyes; something, anything…

His eyes landed on Tezuka’s limp, spent cock. 

“Pity,” he muttered, his tongue almost tripping over the word, as a little voice in the back of his mind begged him not to say it. “I thought the sex would have been better with a thing that size.”

“You don’t mean that.” Tezuka’s voice wavered, proving that he doubted his own words even as he said them. Fuji was almost in the clear.

“Sure I do. Sorry, I know it’s harsh but…” Fuji reached out, curling his fingers around the limp dick that had so recently been inside of him, filling him with the most powerful sensation he had ever felt. He grimaced. “It’s not much use if you don’t know how to use it.”

Tezuka knocked his hand away, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look up. Fuji just hoped Tezuka couldn’t see him clearly without the glasses.

“Oh, did I make you angry? The truth hurts, doesn’t it?

“Shut up.”

“Careful, Tezuka, you look mad enough to hit me. Wouldn’t want that, would we? It wouldn’t be very romantic.” Just keep pushing those buttons… “Or have the rules changed?”

“I said, shut up!” Tezuka yelled. He was visibly shaking.

He must have been furious. Fuji had never heard him speak so rudely to anyone, ever.

“Hit me, Tezuka,” he urged. “Go on, hit me!” Maybe if he was lucky, Tezuka would beat him to a bloody pulp and he could live out his life as a useless lump, unable to hurt anyone this badly ever again. “You want to, I can tell!” he cried, instead of letting fall the tears that were creeping up on him. “Do it! Hit me!”

*

He almost fell for it—he really did—but when Fuji began to raise his voice and the desperation in it cut the air, he heard just how close the tensai was to tears and he stayed his hand. 

“Hit me, Tezuka. Go on, hit me! You want to, I can tell! Do it! Hit me!”

“STOP TESTING me, Fuji! Just stop!” Tezuka shouted, channeling all of his angry energy into his voice rather than raising his hand against the one he loved. “Maybe I do want to! Maybe I’m angry, and hurt, and yes, maybe I want to hit you—but that doesn’t mean I will.” He spat the last few words, raw emotion bringing a lump of tears into his own throat. He was trembling and he felt slightly dizzy… Why was Fuji doing this to him?

“Why?” Fuji moaned, echoing his own thoughts. “Why do you do this to me?”

Tezuka wanted to ask what exactly Fuji thought he was doing, but he just couldn’t speak. If he forced sound out of his throat, he might wretch, or faint, or cry.

Fuji told him anyway. 

“You make me think you’re too good to be true. You make me think you can give me everything I’ve ever wanted. Then, you make me think that I want that, when all I really want is to be punished... And when I remember that… When I remember that, Tezuka, I feel ashamed. I feel sick, like there’s something wrong with me, and there is! There is! I’m broken inside and I don’t want to fix it! I want to kick it until it falls apart!” There were tears streaming down Fuji’s cheeks and he was alternatively whispering and shouting, his voice cracking with emotion. “I don’t want your ‘help’! Stop trying to help me, because whether I need it or not, I don’t want it! I’ve earned every blow I ask for. Atobe knows that. So he does it even though he doesn’t want to. Why can’t you see that I’m damaged goods? Why can’t you see that I don’t deserve you?”

“You’re right,” Tezuka finally forced out. He closed his eyes, willing down the rising sickness. He didn’t know why he was feeling so light headed but it didn’t bode well. “You are broken, Fuji,” he continued, forcing himself to keep looking at that shadowed, blurry, desolate expression. “You’re sick, twisted, pathetic, and needy… but so am I. So is Atobe. So is everyone else. The difference is, you care so much about others that you notice when you hurt them and you punish yourself. What you don’t realize is that we hurt each other just as much but we don’t see what we do to each other—or we don’t care—because we’re to selfish to see beyond ourselves.” Tezuka took a deep breath. He felt calmer, more stable. “You can’t go on punishing yourself like this. You’re not the only one who’s broken but if you don’t try to fix yourself, those jagged little exposed edges will cut everybody around you to shreds.”

“You don’t understand,” Fuji whimpered, shaking his head. “You don’t know what I’m like, what I do to people…”

“I know that you can’t stand to see anyone in pain-”

“You’re wrong, I love it!”

“Liar. You didn’t feel too good breaking my heart, did you? You didn’t want-”

“You saw what I did to Mizuki… To Kirihara!”

“And I saw what they did to your brother, and to Tachibana-san. And recently, I’ve seen the bruises inflicted by Atobe and I can’t help but wonder which of them are for the sakes of those two bullies.”

“You don’t know what I felt when I played them,” Fuji hissed. “You’re the one who always says that a racket shouldn’t be used as a weapon. Everyone believes that tensai, Fuji, Syusuke battered Kirihara’s knee accidentally. I wouldn’t be much of a tensai if it was an accident, now would I, Tezuka?” Fuji spat the word ‘tensai’ as if it were a rotten taste in his mouth. “The rush when I aimed that ball at his knee was divine. I wanted to do it again and again and again… I’ll never forget that terrified look on his face. He knows, Tezuka. He saw in my eyes how much I enjoyed it.”

“No, Fuji,” Tezuka responded quietly. “He saw in your eyes how much he enjoyed it. He saw a reflection of the pleasure he took in hurting people. Because of you, he’s a different person. Because of you, he’ll never use tennis as a weapon again-”

“That doesn’t change what I felt!” Fuji cried. “That doesn’t change how rotten I am deep down!”

“No, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re human!” Tezuka yelled back. “People throw around the word tensai as if it means you’re supposed to be perfect. You are a brilliant technician when it comes to tennis and you have a brilliant creative, logical, and mathematical mind—but, Fuji, you’re still human. You have the same faults as all of us. Rage, revenge… Power… There are people who live for those sorts of things but they’re not evil; they’re just humans who gave in to weakness. If you regret what you’ve done—what you’ve felt—Fuji, that’s enough! You don’t have to punish yourself until you crumble!”

Fuji stared at him, lost and helpless. He whispered, “How else am I supposed to live with myself?”

“The same way everyone else does. Deal with your guilt and make it up to others by helping them.” Tezuka pulled Fuji into his arms and pressed his lips against the tensai’s forehead. “How do you think Kirihara would feel if he knew the pain you’ve suffered for his sake? Instead of punishing yourself, why not help him learn to control himself? Rather than forcing Atobe to hurt you against his will, why not let him redeem his own guilt by loving you—loving someone other than himself for the first time in his life? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“It’s a vicious cycle, isn’t it?” Fuji whispered. “Someone gets hurt, I hurt the culprit, then I get myself hurt for doing so… and in turn hurt the one I’ve forced to hurt me. If I realize that I’ve hurt them, I hurt myself more, and in the end, its unbroken.” He buried his face in Tezuka’s shirt, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just a big, nasty, circle of pain coming round again and again to torture us all. Tezuka, I’m so sorry!” Fuji collapsed, sobbing, and Tezuka fought to hold him up. 

Finally, Fuji understood. He was seeing the bigger picture at last.

Tezuka just hoped it wasn’t too late.


	9. Fade to Black

“Echizen, what are you doing here at this time of night?”

Recognizing the voice, Ryouma almost played deaf; almost. “I could ask the same thing, Saru-sama,” he mumbled grumpily.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Atobe sniffed haughtily.

Ryouma turned to face him. “That it’s none of your business… monkey-face.”

Atobe actually smirked. “No need to be so defensive,” he scolded, and then bent down condescendingly to Ryouma’s seated level. “Could it be that you’re love-sick and couldn’t sleep?”

“Shut up!” Ryouma snapped, pushing Atobe out of his way as he lurched to his feet and made to brush past.

Atobe laughed, his words halting a retreating Ryouma out of sheer curiosity. “Don’t tell me it’s Fuji!” Atobe chuckled, a little too shrilly to be taken casually.

“Huh?” Ryouma frowned. “…No.”

Atobe’s laughter had already died off, replaced by a bitter expression as he stared out at the endlessly dark night. “Good thing. He’s probably with Tezuka right now.”

Ryouma’s eyes narrowed. “Tezuka-buchou? Why would he be with Fuji-senpai?”

“It’s a very long story and one that I am hardly going to share with you of all people,” Atobe answered condescendingly.

Scowling, Ryouma advanced on the despised, snobby, rich bastard of a captain. “Tell me,” he snarled.

Atobe took a deeper look at him. “I should have known it would be Tezuka,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything. I was just specula-”

“Liar,” Ryouma accused. “Tell me. I have a right to know.”

“Do you? Just because you like someone, does that mean you deserve to know everything about them? Hardly. You wouldn’t even begin to understand the extent of Tezuka’s feelings, or Fuji’s. There’s no place for you, or anyone else between those two. I should know, I’ve been there.”

Ryouma fumed. What did the self-obsessed captain of Hyoutei know about his two most trusted and respected senpais? What did a monkey-king know about Seigaku’s personal business?

Then he saw the tears, trickling down Atobe’s cheeks, almost hidden in the dark. He saw the bruises staining Atobe’s jaw and the split lip to go along with them. 

“What would you know?” he asked quietly, light on venom and thick on curiosity as the same words he would have issued with a challenge became a genuine query. “What’s it got to do with you?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. I wash my hands of all responsibility. I’m not-” Atobe broke off with a sob.

Ryouma, influenced by the rare and unexpected emotional display, felt a tear or two trickling down his own cheeks in a sympathetic response prompted by his own bruised feelings. He thought about his crush on Tezuka and Atobe’s assurances that there was nothing awaiting him but a dead end. His body moved independently and he actually reached out to hug Atobe, the taller boy falling limp in his arms and sobbing uncontrollably onto his shoulder.

If he was going be a pillow, Ryouma figured he was entitled to be comfortable, at least, so he pulled Atobe down to the grass and settled the older boy at a less strenuous angle. Atobe only held him tighter and cried harder.

Once he finally managed to speak, Ryouma heard the whole story from the very beginning. He heard things he never wanted to know about Fuji-senpai and things that he had always wanted to know about Tezuka-buchou—and he discerned things that nobody was ever supposed to know about Atobe.

No one was supposed to know that Atobe could care for, let alone love, someone other than himself. No one was supposed to know that Atobe delighted in making people happy but acted harshly in acquiescence to the demands of his name and position. No one was supposed to know that he had a soft streak that Fuji’s masochistic tendencies played ruthless havoc with. No one was ever supposed to know that Atobe could cry; least of all a potential rival like Ryouma.

It left him in a very difficult position. He knew all these things that he didn’t want to. He wanted to keep viewing Atobe as an egotistic bastard, as an enemy and rival, as one more person on his road to victory. He wanted to remember Atobe as the guy that almost destroyed Tezuka’s career, not as someone who gave up the only person he’d ever loved for that person’s well-being—not as someone who could sacrifice his own happiness for two people that Ryouma cared about very much.

So there they were, standing on common ground. Though he had little time to absorb it all, Ryouma’s tennis style had developed with a quick and spontaneous mind. He understood that he wanted Tezuka-buchou to be happy, and he wanted Fuji-senpai to be healthy. He understood that if he were in Atobe’s position, he would have done the same thing. He understood that he actually understood where Atobe was coming from, and that not only annoyed him but also changed all of his perceptions about the big-headed oaf..

That morning, as Ryouma crept back into his room, silent tears streaking down his face, he was almost glad when his nearly silent sob alerted his roommate. He was almost glad to learn that Momo had heard him creep in and out every night and had connected some of the dots all by himself. 

He was definitely glad to be able to cry into his best friend’s arms and brokenly babble out some of the harder truths he had learned. His heart had been broken before he’d managed to complete the puzzle but in the same beat, he was happy for Tezuka and Fuji, and yet miserable for Atobe at the same time. It barely made any sense, and he told Momo that, even as his tears finally leaked to a stop and he sagged, exhausted and spent, in his friend’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Momo whispered. “I knew something was bothering you but I didn’t know it was so… Jeez, I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ryouma replied, typically. “I’m happy that Fuji-senpai’s being taken care of… and if that makes Buchou happy… then it’s okay.”

“Yeah, but what about you?” Momo asked, rather untactfully to tell the truth.

Ryouma shrugged. “I’ll just forget about it. Don’t know what I was thinking, anyway. Maybe that perverted old man is rubbing off on me.”

Momo chuckled. “I wouldn’t rule it out… but seriously, Echizen, I’m here for you, okay? I’m sure it’ll all work out. You’ll find someone new in no time.”

*

Tezuka’s blood froze over as he woke to a knock on his door. It was early but not so early that no-one should be up, and yet, he was usually wide awake before almost anyone else. 

He snapped around to look at Fuji who was snuggled comfortably at his side, one eye cracked open at him. He waited, but the tensai just closed his eye again as if he wasn’t bothered.

He thinned his voice to an urgent whisper. “Fuji-”

“It’s probably Atobe,” Fuji murmured. “Just answer the door.”

Afraid that it just might be Atobe, Tezuka got up, threw the blanket over Fuji’s naked body, pulled on a robe, and answered the door as told.

It was not Atobe.

“Momoshiro?” he asked, slightly puzzled. He tried to position himself to block Fuji from view.

Momo grinned and greeted him before casting a shy glance towards the tensai, almost as if he expected Fuji to be there. “Uh, Buchou… Echizen’s not feeling to well today. I told him to stay in bed and rest up, so…”

To Tezuka’s dismay, a hastily robed Fuji appeared at his side, practically draping all over him.

“Thank you, Momo,” he said, far too cheerfully. “Don’t worry too much. I’ll go down and have a chat with him before breakfast.”

“Senpai?” Momo asked, sounding about as confused as Tezuka was.

“It’s okay. I can hazard a guess as to what’s got our rookie under the weather,” Fuji replied cryptically. 

“Will you please-” Tezuka began, exasperated with the tensai’s constantly exhausting behavior.

“Shh. Momo-chan is very discreet,” Fuji breathed into his ear, causing Tezuka to have to fight down a blush. “And,” Fuji continued seriously, turning his gaze back upon the second-year. “A good friend. I promise I will be, too.”

Momo bowed in gratitude—though Tezuka still didn’t quite understand what for—and took his leave. Before Tezuka could question the tensai, he was stalled by a pair of soft, sweet lips, and soon found himself back in bed, though sleeping in was hardly on his mind anymore.

*

Ryouma had pretended to sleep after bearing his soul to Momo, but truthfully, he couldn’t sleep a wink. He was up past dawn, turning his thoughts and feelings, and his conversations with Atobe and Momo over and over in his mind. He was still confused, but ultimately just exhausted and dispirited. He wished everything could just go back to how simple it was before he started catching onto his feelings for Tezuka. He wished he could stop secretly hoping things wouldn’t work out between Tezuka and Fuji. He wished he had developed feelings for someone else.

He wished a lot of things.

More than anything, he wished for that stupid knocking to cease! And just as he was finally drifting off, too!

“Come in!” he groaned; irritated, tired, and already fed up with whoever it was. Come to think of it, what the hell had Momo been thinking, going out so early in the damn morning?

“My apologies, Echizen. Did I wake you?”

Ryouma sat up at the gentle sound of Fuji’s voice, confirmed with blurry vision that it was who he thought it was, and then flopped back down, realizing that he didn’t want to look at Fuji and start crying again. He was too tired to put a lid on his emotions.

“Yes,” he grumbled in English, clearly lying but unwilling to yield.

Fuji sat on the edge of his bed, silent for several long seconds before quietly saying, “I’m not a very good friend, am I? I ignored your odd behavior and only just now did I realize what I’d already figured out days ago.” Ryouma wondered if he believed that what he said made any sense at all, or if utter nonsense was part of his master plan. “Truthfully, I think I knew it already, and that just makes me even worse for knowingly stealing Tezuka away from you. I’m sorry. At some point in the grand transformation I appear to have undergone overnight, I promised myself I wasn’t going to hurt anyone else, but I already have, haven’t I?”

Ryouma saw no point in denying or trying to hide anything. Fuji was too sharp, and far too clever to be fooled. He sighed, inwardly, and shrugged, mentally. 

“Not really,” Ryouma muttered, just a tiny bit grudgingly. “You deserve to be happy, as much as anyone else does.” 

“Of course, but…” Fuji turned to look at him. “Not at the expense of my friends.”

Ryouma didn’t meet his eerily knowing blue eyes. “Someone is always going to be hurt… but it’s not just me,” he muttered. “Saru-sama’s taking it pretty hard.”

“Sa..? …Keigo,” Fuji translated, looking stricken. “I’d almost forgotten.”

Ryouma wanted to point out how very cruel it was to break someone’s heart and then proceed to forget all about it but he held his tongue. It wasn’t his place.

One brief sigh and then Fuji slipped his mask back in place. “Forgive me, I’m a little out of sorts today.”

He did indeed look very tired; more so than he ever had, though Ryouma assumed he’d spent a lot of late nights getting beaten up by Atobe. It was the kind of thought he knew was designed to torture himself and he played right into it, spun back into that annoying confusion that came along with something clearly not white that somehow wasn’t really black, either.

He wanted to be angry at Atobe for doing what he had to Fuji but it was more complicated than that and he knew it. Atobe never wanted to hurt Fuji, and Fuji had ignored that wish, so the one at fault was the tensai... Which left Atobe as the victim… but that wasn’t right either. It was hard to think of Atobe as a victim of anything, which only fueled the confusion. Who was Ryouma supposed to be angry at? Fuji? Atobe? Tezuka? Himself, for getting mixed up in any of it?

Ryouma could see how much Atobe loved Fuji, and he could see how shattered Atobe’s heart was the previous night. He was also sure of Fuji’s and Tezuka’s feelings for each other—he’d only entertained his crush on Tezuka because he’d known Fuji had been seeing someone even while Tezuka was gone. He’d thought the coast was clear but he wasn’t blind to what had always been between them.

What he wasn’t sure of anymore was his own feelings.

Was he really in love with Tezuka if he was able to decide so easily to give up on him for Fuji’s sake? No matter that the decision was nothing compared to the act of doing so. The point was that he’d been able to decide so at all.

“Echizen.”

At Fuji’s voice, he looked up. Startled out of his spiraling thoughts, he was caught in the tensai’s piercing stare.

“I’m going to change. I’m going to become worthy of Tezuka, I promise.” Ryouma didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. “And I’m going to do everything I can to make it up to you… and to Keigo.”

Ryouma challenged Fuji with a long stare until he believed the tensai meant what he said, then told him, “Do what you want.” He was “rewarded” with an affectionate roughing up of his hair that made him oddly happy before he curled up under his covers so that there was no mistake that this consultation was over.

“Thank you, Ryouma,” Fuji whispered feelingly. “Your support means a lot to me, and to Tezuka.”


	10. Whitewash

Anyone who looked could easily notice a vast change in several people over the next few days. Fuji was the most noticeable. His energy and technique picked up drastically to the point that he was almost like a fresh player on the courts. Tezuka, too, seemed more motivated than previously, working his group harder than ever and with impeccable efficiency. Even Yuuta had exhibited a change, mostly in the way he treated his brother. Where before he had been openly hostile, he began to simply acknowledge Fuji and then move on to whatever else he was doing, watching, or saying—and if one looked really closely, they might notice a smile or two concealed in the younger Fuji’s customary scowls. Meanwhile, Atobe was less… just less. His play was as effective as ever but his brimming overconfidence and competitive spirit seemed muted. Many simply assumed he was taking it easy, having scored an early pass onto the team along with Sanada.

Last, but not least, was Echizen. He had barely been seen at practice or matches and thus he was not on good ground in terms of being chosen for the invitational team. What most people couldn’t understand was why Tezuka just let him continue on with a blatant disregard for the camp and budding competition. 

Concern for Echizen seemed to be one of the only things that brought Fuji down from his happy little cloud. Tezuka snapped at anyone who brought up the subject while Momoshiro just shrugged and laughed it off with a joke. Atobe's reaction was strangest of all in matters concerning Echizen. At mention of his poor performance, his unusual cat, his cap, his eating habits, or anything else associated with the struggling younger player, Atobe would drop what he was doing and leave the vicinity.

Finally, Echizen’s moping hit a head the day before the announcement of the remaining team members, Atobe threw his racket down on the grass in a sudden fit of impatience upon glancing across the courtyard and seeing the first year sleeping under a tree instead of attending matches like the rest of his group. The captain of Hyoutei had reached the limit of his considerable patience.

He stormed across the courtyard and bent to drag Echizen up by the collar in full view of all of his own group and those with good enough vision to see over from Sakaki-sensei’s domain. He shook Echizen vigorously to make sure he was fully awake.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he challenged.

Echizen glared directly back at him. “I don’t feel like playing,” he answered, staring Atobe in the eyes. He seemed to think that Atobe should feel sorry for him and let him be as Tezuka had done so far.

Fat chance.

“Stop being such a pathetic little brat!” Atobe snapped. “So Tezuka’s in love with someone else. So what!? That has nothing to do with tennis! If you don’t get out there and get your act together right now, then you’ll lose the chance to play on the Japanese team!”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Echizen muttered, his eyes sliding away from Atobe’s and proving the lie.

“Rubbish. You love tennis.”

“Why don’t you stop acting like it doesn’t bother you at all!” Echizen challenged back. He shoved Atobe away from him. “You’re such a hypocrite!” He made to run off but Atobe grabbed his arm, jarringly halting his progress.

“Echizen, don’t do this to yourself. You’ll get over Tezuka, but you won’t get another chance to play a tournament like this for a long time yet,” Atobe reasoned, his voice quiet but urgent.

Echizen struggled once but it was clear that he couldn’t break free so he stopped and subsequently deflated. “How come it’s so easy for you to pretend?” he asked, not facing Atobe at all.

“I’ve had practice,” Atobe informed him.

When Echizen’s eyes—brimming with tears—met his, Atobe couldn’t help but feel endeared toward him. Maybe he was a shocking little brat but there was something about those rare emotional tears that made one just want to cuddle him until it was all better.

Never reaching his cheeks, the tears—and the sympathy—were short lived, however. A moment later, Hanamura-sensei strode over to them and demanded that Atobe stop fooling about with other group’s players and return to her vicinity. Atobe nudged Echizen in the direction of the boy’s own group and spared him one last, lingering look of expectation before obediently following the coach.

In the meantime, he had important things to do. For example, he planned to show Sanada up by winning his seventh consecutive match for the week while the Rikkaidai player was still at five. 

*

Ryouma was surprised to find himself at Atobe’s door later that night. However, by the time he came to his senses, it was too late; he had already knocked. Before he could walk away, the door opened, revealing a surprisingly sexy Atobe garbed only in a forest green robe, his dripping wet hair being roughed up by a towel. There was a pause as his irritated expression dissolved into one of acceptance and he turned away, leaving the door open for Ryouma to follow.

Despite that he no longer wanted to, Ryouma did exactly that. He was the one who had called on Atobe, after all.

“Well?”

“You were right,” Ryouma grudgingly offered through gritted teeth. “But it’s too late. I’ve already screwed up. Tezuka-buchou has already given up on me. He snapped at me today.”

“Ahn? So Tezuka finally grew a pair.”

“Shut your face,” Ryouma snapped. “Tezuka-buchou has bigger balls than you ever will.” His eyes burned with anger that anyone—least of all Atobe—would speak like that about his beloved captain. 

*

Ignoring Echizen’s outburst, Atobe vigorously rubbed at his wet hair and then tossed the towel aside with a refreshed, sigh. “Comparative ball-sizes aside, you not only took advantage of Tezuka’s guilt at having been so caught up in Fuji that he neglected you but you actually thought you could rely on friendship and past victories to cruise on through this camp,” Atobe commentated as he sat down in front of his mirror and ran his hands through his hair. “You thought Tezuka would favor you no matter what you did and even forgive you the very emotional instability that is a fatal handicap in tennis simply because he was party to its cause. Now you’ve dug yourself a nasty little hole. How will you dig yourself out again, I wonder?”

“I’m leaving,” Echizen announced, apparently disgusted by Atobe’s blatant lack of empathy and refusal to give him any useful advice.

“I won’t stop you,” Atobe warned, glancing at the boy’s retreating back through his mirror. 

And yet, that did stop him. “You think I want to be stopped?” he challenged, the emotion in his voice—and the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere—giving him away all too easily.

“I think you don’t want to leave,” Atobe replied, already out of his chair and close enough to place his hands on Echizen’s shoulders. He leaned down and spoke into the boy’s ear. “You chose the wrong person to moan to. Ore-sama is not the sympathetic type. I won’t humor you. I don’t feel sorry for anyone—least of all myself… I really am a terrible rebound,” he added after a moment’s hesitation.

Expertly provoked, Echizen whirled to face him. “I’m not-” he cut off, temporarily flabbergasted. “You’re not even the least bit attractive, no matter how much you think you are! I don’t do bestiality. Monkey’s aren’t my type,” he announced scathingly even as his eyes were riveted to Atobe’s spectacular form, blithely betraying the words spewing out of him.

“And Ore-sama doesn’t ‘do’ little brats,” Atobe replied, even as his lips gravitated to Echizen’s, stealing a kiss that shocked them both.

Shock was fleeting, though, because as Echizen responded passionately to the kiss, Atobe learned several things about them both that gave him an entirely new perspective.

He had loved Fuji—he still did—but Fuji hadn’t wanted his love. Fuji had wanted to be hurt, even as Atobe had wanted to cherish him. The only one who was able to tame the out-of-control tensai was the captain he respected, trusted, and obeyed—Tezuka—and now Atobe was left with nothing but himself and his team to be concerned with—or so he had thought.

Unlike Fuji, Echizen wanted—needed—to be treasured and pampered even if he was likely to object on the surface. He was the perfect recipient for Atobe’s unexercised desire to lavish care and attention on another. Atobe had no doubts that he could come to love Echizen as he had loved Fuji. 

The rest of it wasn’t a problem, either. One kiss had them both on the bed, the younger boy instantly responding to Atobe’s lead—but for all the flung insults and insincere arguments, Atobe wasn’t going to make the same mistakes again. He would not hurt Echizen. He would not lose control as Fuji had made him, no matter how much the brat infuriated him. That part of him was gone along with the tensai.

“Shhh, Ryouma. I won’t hurt you,” he promised, sweetly kissing away Echizen’s half-hearted protests—uttered even as the boy unbuttoned his own pajamas. 

“Damned right, you won’t,” Echizen announced.

He wasn’t sure whether that was a challenge or an affirmation in support of Atobe’s pacifistic rebirth but regardless, he felt he had to make it clear once and for all. “Fuji was different,” he said. “Fuji never gave me a choice. He made our relationship what it was and would not let it evolve. I loved him… and he found me useful.” Echizen was silent, obviously unsure of how they had gone from making out to acknowledging the lingering pain. Atobe forced a cocky smile to his lips. “This time, Ore-sama won’t give in to manipulations,” he promised, punctuating the oath with a sincere kiss that re-ignited the simmering passion as he ground into Echizen, causing themboth to moan with pleasure despite the current pre-occupation of their mouths.

The time for talk was almost over… but not quite. Atobe broke the kiss, gasping for a moment as a little tremor shuddered through him from the friction of their rolling hips. 

“About Tezuka-”

“Buchou loves Fuji-senpai. He doesn’t even see me as anything but a tennis player.” The pain there was real enough but it was already healing. Atobe could work with that. “I’ll get over it—just don’t expect me to fall in love with a stupid monkey-king like you,” Echizen added insolently.

“Who’d want the love of an arrogant brat who doesn’t know when to shut up?” Atobe ribbed, touting a smirk as he considered how awkward it might have been if Echizen had continued to pine after his captain. Sooner or later, he was going to realize that he’d picked up a boyfriend in all this, but for the time being, they had more immediate concerns. Atobe’s hands began to wander and he resumed a slow, insistent grind to keep the friction alive.

Following a delightfully honest gasp, Echizen speared Atobe with a stern look. “How do you know Fuji-senpai won’t do the same thing to Tezuka-buchou he did to you?” he asked, fairly enough.

Atobe once more halted his actions and looked deliberately down into Echizen’s golden eyes, making sure the boy’s undivided attention was on his words and not his seductions. “You think Tezuka could pull the tennis racket out of his ‘Yudansezuniikkou’ ass for long enough to give in to Fuji’s tricks? Ah, ye of little faith…”

Still touchy on Tezuka, Echizen made to snap back but paused, smirked just a little, and stretched out comfortably under Atobe as if he had just awoken from a nap. “I suppose that’s true,” he said in an inviting drawl, his mood irreversibly altered. “Stop blabbing at me and get undressed before I get bored and leave for real,” he snapped petulantly when Atobe didn’t take up the offer right away.

Atobe, rather maturely, he thought, resisted the urge to point out that Echizen had been the one to drag out the conversation. Besides, he was already learning his lesson in that it was much easier to shut Ryouma up—or, rather, to make him moan—by applying pleasure over barbed words.

*

Ryouma didn’t really have the faintest idea how he’d ended up kissing Atobe, never mind in bed with him. He didn’t even have a clear handle on what had possessed him to visit in the first place. 

He had to admit, though… Atobe wasn’t entirely made of hot air. When Ryouma bypassed his bias to take a good look, there was plenty to admire about the Hyoutei captain—surprisingly much of the same that had attracted Ryouma to Tezuka in the first place. Atobe even had some unique merits all of his own… 

Then there was the fact that while Ryouma had rolled over and played dead, Atobe had slapped a band-aid on the wounds and gotten on with things and given Ryouma the courage to do the same. As much as his meddling had been annoying, it had been advice Ryouma had needed… he’d just wanted to hear it from Tezuka as proof that he still mattered. That Atobe got there first helped Ryouma to see more clearly.

Of course, there was just as much to loathe about Atobe, and Ryouma hadn’t forgotten all that, but… well, when it wasn’t tied up in talking, Atobe’s tongue was doing a lot to make him forget about all those less desirable things… Come to mention it, his hands were also making a good argument… and… and…

“If you’re going to compliment me,” breathed the deep, sexy voice—that was steadily gaining points toward approval—in Ryouma’s ear, “Then at least do it out loud.”

Ryouma would have made some sort of scathing reply if he wasn’t caught up in a wave of sensation as Atobe’s shift to whisper into his ear eased him deeper at just the right angle. Panting in the wake of that stimulus, Ryouma wrapped his arms and legs about Atobe and arched his back, indicating that the warm-up was over.

“Feels good,” he summed up, then bucked his hips to tell Atobe that was all the compliment he was gonna get, especially if he didn’t get on with it.

*

A while later, Atobe lay supine, staring at the ceiling. There was a fine sheen of sweat covering his still warm skin. One arm was thrown back haphazardly above his head, carelessly trapping his hair. His chest rose and fell in an almost steady rhythm as he fought to control his breath.

Echizen lay beside him, small in comparison and curled up in contrast to Atobe’s sprawl. His legs, hidden under the bed sheets, were tangled with Atobe’s but there was a decent amount of space between their upper bodies, insinuating that there was much room to be covered before they could call what had begun a relationship.

Of course, Tezuka took in none of this telling detail when he burst into the foolishly unlocked room.

“Atobe, something has happened to Fuji. I need-” He froze, mid-sentence. “Echizen.”

“Hmm?” the boy in question groaned dazedly, slowly sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“I see you haven’t wasted any time getting into bed with another of my teammates,” Tezuka growled at Atobe as he strode over, grabbed Echizen’s wrist, and dragged him out of bed.

“Let go of me!” Echizen snapped, roughly shaking Tezuka off along with his sleepiness. For a moment, he physically wavered, realizing how rudely he had addressed his captain—and how naked and exposed he was—but then his hurt and anger took over and he faced Tezuka boldly. “You don’t have any right to touch me!”

The shocked expression on Tezuka’s face was highly comical, or so Atobe thought as he composedly slipped out from under the covers and pulled his robe on. When he grabbed another from his closet and tossed it to Echizen, he noticed that though the boy caught it out of reflex, he was still glaring stubbornly at his captain whilst Tezuka re-composed himself.

“I’ll deal with this later,” the Seigaku captain said coolly, his eyes sliding from Echizen to Atobe, who readily observed how quick his rival was to run from the complicated situation. 

“Well?” Atobe asked, in much the same tone he had used on Echizen earlier, only to be drowned by a simultaneous protest. “Later?” came Echizen’s low, emotional growl. “I don’t think so. If you can’t put me first now, you never will!”

Atobe was relieved to note that Echizen slipped the rich red robe over his naked form as he bolted out the door. It wouldn’t do to have a naked rookie running around in a camp full of frustrated teenaged athletes.

Tezuka’s eyes skittered between the door and Atobe as he reluctantly asked, “What… was that…?”

“There’s no need for that,” Atobe cut in sourly. “‘Ore-sama’ is not deluded enough to think you would put your minor worries for Echizen over those for your dearest Fuji.”

“If I recall correctly,” Tezuka muttered acidly, “He’s your dearest Fuji, too.”

“Not anymore, thanks to you—and don’t think to go muddling in this. It doesn’t concern you,” Atobe lied, challenging Tezuka to say otherwise. Almost to his disappointment (mostly for Echizen’s sake) Tezuka did not. 

“Follow me,” he said instead, leading the way out the door. “Hurry.”

Atobe hoped it wouldn’t take long. He was surprised to find that he wanted to consolidate his place with Echizen and putting Fuji first just like Tezuka had was certainly not going to help him accomplish that.

However, when they arrived at Tezuka’s room, Echizen was already there, proving that he was just as worried about Fuji as they were. He had tears in his eyes and looked most silly drowning in Atobe’s big red robe but he was there, inching hesitantly toward the figure huddled in the corner.

It only took one glance at Fuji for Atobe to catch on to the situation.

“Echizen, could you go and fetch Fuji, Yuuta? And do stop and pick up some clothes on the way,” he suggested.

“I’m not a messenger!” Echizen snapped, obviously still sensitive.

“Please, Echizen,” Tezuka pleaded quietly.

Echizen glared at him for a moment, then walked out of the room without looking back at either of them.

Atobe knew he was going to pay for this eventually but Tezuka was obviously in-equipped to deal with Fuji’s relapse. Besides, Atobe had to believe that Echizen didn’t want to lose his friend and senpai to a black hole of depression, either, so surely he’d be forgiven in time… 

Meanwhile, Atobe’s eyes—and mind—fixated firmly on the tensai who was digging at bleeding scratches on his arms. He calmly asked Tezuka what had happened as he observed the mildly psychotic behavior.

“He was fine. He was doing fine. He was happy, and we were fine, and then… I don’t know! He just… snapped. I was meeting with the coaches and when I came back, he was like this. I-I came straight to you. I shouldn’t have but I did. Can you help, or not?”

Atobe snorted, his ego happily absorbing Tezuka’s admission of helplessness, but there was no mirth in him. He wasn't even pleased by his rival's lack of composure. He sighed and slowly approached Fuji.

“Think of it like withdrawals,” he explained, talking in a mild, steady voice as he moved so that he wouldn’t startle the tensai who was currently locked up inside a dark and spiteful mental landscape. “The pain is like a drug to him. That kind of psychological dependence can’t be cured in a day or two with a little chicken soup for the soul.” He reached Fuji and slowly bent down, touching the tensai’s arm with a gentleness Fuji would never associate with him.

Agonizingly slowly, Fuji turned hollow eyes on him and Atobe felt a little shiver run down his spine. He didn’t like that look. Not one bit.

“Fuji,” he breathed, trying to drag some recognition out of those dead eyes. “Fuji, it’s me; Atobe.”

“I know,” Fuji replied as though Atobe were a moron, but there was still nothing behind his eyes. “You gave me away and now I have to soothe the agony all by myself, but I can’t. I can’t—and it’s just getting worse! I can’t stop it, I can’t-… I can’t…”

A sharp clap resounded as Atobe’s hand coursed across Fuji’s cheek.

“Atobe-!”

“Shut up,” Atobe warned. “Say what you want later but I’m doing what needs to be done now.”

“No, you’re not! You’re making the problem worse!” snarled the voice of Yuuta as he hauled Atobe away from his brother and fell to his knees where the Hyoutei captain had been. “Aniki… Aniki, snap out of it. Aniki!”

Fuji just stared at him blankly, the brief outbreak of his babbling having already subsided back into hollow rejection of the world.

“Syusuke… Syusuke, please,” Yuuta begged, as tears began to trickle down his cheeks. “I won’t let them do this to you, anymore, and I won’t let you hurt yourself. This is all going to stop.”

Fuji reacted—barely. His eyes flickered in response to his brother calling his name but the moment Yuuta started talking about ending the pain, he went dead again.

“Oi,” called another voice. “Fuji-senpai, with all due respect, get over it.” Atobe turned to see the rookie hanging his head, his hands curled up into tight, angry fists. “Don’t be so selfish,” Echizen continued. “You promised me you’d become worthy of Tezuka-buchou and this doesn’t cut it. If you think you can just say whatever you want and be forgiven, then you’ve got another thing coming. I won’t ever forgive you if you don’t live up to that promise because as much as I know he’ll never love me back, it makes me sick to think he’s wasting his time with someone so pathetic he can’t even stop his own little brother from crying so snap out of it!”

Intuitively, Atobe moved to support the shaken Echizen, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders and casting a glance over at Tezuka who was staring at Echizen in open shock. Obviously, he’d had no idea. 

Detachedly, Atobe noticed that Echizen hadn’t heeded him. He was still wearing the oversized robe. It was anyone’s guess how he had managed such haste with that thing dragging under his feet.

“Fuji!”

Tezuka’s worried cry drew Atobe’s attention back to the troubled tensai who had slumped into Yuuta’s arms, his whole body seeming limp after releasing the tension that seemed to have held him upright.

“I’m sorry,” Fuji sighed into the silence occasionally interrupted by Yuuta’s muted sobs. “I broke my promise, Ryouma,… Yuuta.” He remained motionless in his brother’s arms, his voice was little more than a thin wisp of sound.

“Syusuke?” Yuuta asked quietly. “Are you…?”

“I never meant for you to worry about me, Yuuta,” Fuji said by way of apology. “I didn’t think you would.” He wasn’t fishing for sympathy just stating the fact as he saw it. That made it all the more heartbreaking. Yuuta just sobbed and stroked his brother’s hair in forgiveness and apology. “Keigo… I guess I did it again. I broke my promise to you, too. I promised never to make you hurt me again.”

“It doesn’t count,” Atobe replied stiffly, looking away from Fuji’s frail-seeming form as he brushed the apology aside. That was his way of saying ‘I forgive you,’ but Fuji didn’t seem to get that.

“It does,” Fuji argued, finally raising his head and looking straight at Atobe who was forced to meet his eyes. “If it hurts you to strike me, then that was no exception. I broke my promise.”

“And what if that felt good?” Atobe challenged, confident in his lie. “What if I wanted a little revenge for you leaving me?”

Fuji smiled, albeit a little sadly. “I don’t believe that,” he said. He lowered his eyes. “I’m not so blind, anymore. Or, rather, I can’t ignore what’s in front of me.” On this, his eyes flittered up to Tezuka and then away. He rested his cheek on Yuuta’s shoulder, facing away from them all.

There was the sound of a throat being cleared and then Tezuka spoke in a voice that was almost level. “Tell me what I did, so next time I can-”

Fuji cut Tezuka off. “-fix it? You can’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve treated me better than anyone has in my life, I just… don’t know how to handle it.”

“Like a child who’s been raised eating nothing but rice, salad, and fish. One caramel-filled chocolate bar and he’d throw up all over the place. His body couldn’t handle it,” Atobe supplied, helpfully.

“I… guess,” Fuji agreed.

“If he really wanted to eat that chocolate bar, he wouldn’t give up,” Atobe continued, pushing the silly analogy until it became a serious speech. “He’d keep eating chocolate and throwing up, weaning off from the healthy food until he could digest the sugar without being sick.”

“Why would anyone lucky enough not to be able to eat something that fattening ‘want’ to-”

“The details of the metaphor are not the point, Ryouma. Fuji, do you want to get better, or not? Do you want to know what it’s like to live without this misery, or not?” 

Everyone in the room noticed Fuji’s hesitation but he came through, finally, pulling out of Yuuta’s arms and facing them all.

“I do,” he said. “I do,” he repeated, looking firmly into Tezuka’s eyes. “I want to get better.”

Tezuka brushed past Yuuta as considerately as he could and pulled Fuji into his embrace, stroking the tensai’s hair. A moment later, he leaned back, studying Fuji’s bloody, scratched skin.

“Buchou—catch,” Echizen called, tossing over a roll of bandages he’d stored in the robe’s giant pocket.

With a nod of gratitude, Tezuka began to tend to Fuji’s wounds. The tensai just sat there quietly, staring guiltily ahead of him. Yuuta slowly backed off, sniffling and wiping at his eyes. He caught Atobe watching him once, and immediately assumed an air of rebuke towards the brother he had always claimed to hate.

At the same moment, Atobe and Echizen both sniffed in disdain and turned for the door, trying to squeeze through it and jostling each other in irritation. Literally figuring himself the bigger man, Atobe lagged behind, cast one last look back at the pair on the floor who were still communicating only by touch and silence, then followed Echizen down the hall.

“Saru-sama, buy me a smaller robe,” was all Echizen seemed to have to say as they curled up together in Atobe’s bed, this time with the rookie nestled in Atobe’s arms.

“If it would keep you from trampling Ore-sama’s best velvet robe, then I shall have to,” Atobe replied, smiling not only at the mental image of tiny little Ryouma in his gigantic robe but also at his new perspective on the whole situation.

Maybe he hadn’t lost, after all.


	11. Epilogue

"Echizen."

Still slick with sweat from the match and high on the adrenaline of his win, Ryouma turned to face his captain—and current substitute-coach. Even as he began to say something trivial and then move on, Tezuka approached him seriously.

"You did Seigaku proud," he said. When Ryouma made to brush off the compliment with his reply, Tezuka cut him off again. "I'm sorry.” Any misunderstanding that he was being pitied was washed away with the next words. “I should have nominated you outright from the beginning."

A little bit of elation couldn’t hurt, right? Ryouma stifled the threatening grin, anyway. "Not really. I didn't earn-"

"Only because I was too pre-occupied to identify your situation. The way I treated you was unacceptable-"

"I was acting like a brat. You scolded me. Whatever. If you'll excuse me, the stupid monkey owes me dinner," Ryouma said nonchalantly, turning his back on Tezuka.

"Echizen." Tezuka's strong, certain voice gave him pause. "If it’s ok with you, I’d like to be your friend as well as your captain. If you need advice, or just someone to listen, or… if Atobe…."

"Sure. Whatever. Just make sure Fuji-senpai keeps his promise, cause he can't do that by himself," Ryouma replied as he disappeared into the almost empty locker room.

Empty but for the aforementioned stupid monkey, grinning smugly and holding a rose as he waited for his doubtlessly victorious boyfriend.

Ryouma raised his eyebrows but Atobe just walked straight up to him and—to Ryouma’s utter shock—embraced his sweat-soaked body, suit and all. When Atobe pulled away, he immediately sought a towel to wipe his hands and suit down with, frowning all the while.

Their relationship had suffered somewhat in the aftermath of the camp. Tezuka's selection of Fuji over Ryouma had put a multi-layered strain on all of their relationships and Atobe had taken some time to set aside his jealousy and irritation at how personally Ryouma had taken that decision. When Tezuka raised his hand against Ryouma in those troubled days, however, Atobe had come down on Seigaku's captain with the full force of his wrath, turning the tables dramatically. Only now were the four of them learning to become comfortable with one another again and draw solid lines between tennis rivalries and romantic entanglements.

"That was a match to make me proud," he said, even as he sneered at Ryouma's sweat transferred to his skin and clothes, and proceeded to spray all about himself with a thick, musky cologne from his own locker.

"Well, your match was cool enough, I suppose—even if it was doubles," the brat added, unable to come down from his high long enough for a sincere compliment.

The bridge of Atobe's nose wrinkled. "Honestly, I'd have done better without that Rikkaidai oaf," he said as Ryouma stripped off.

He said that, but everyone could see that the doubles combination of Sanada and Atobe was extremely strong and well-matched. In fact, Ryouma had felt a touch of jealousy watching their match.

"Yeah, you should definitely never play with him again," Ryouma agreed with a sniff, stripping off as he headed toward the showers.

"Ahn?" No, he did not like that interested tone of Atobe's. "Was that jealousy? Perhaps I should discuss with Sanada the possibilities of a permanent combination... You're very passionate when you’re jealous..."

"Ha! Too bad, but in case you'd forgotten, you're on opposing teams," Ryouma pointed out, proffering his tongue to Atobe who had followed to the showers and took the unintentional offer, kissing Ryouma to within an inch of his life. "Besides," Ryouma continued after the kiss as though nothing had happened. He stepped into the shower stall. "You can't possibly know what I'm like when I'm jealous. You've never once made me jealous."

In moments, Atobe was stripping as well. Apparently, he felt unclean enough to shower again... with Ryouma. He moved under the spray, turning Ryouma and pushing him up against the wall.

"Have I ever told you about the time Tezuka kissed me?" he offered in provocation.

*

Fuji sat in the stands, staring up at the open sky. The dome had been left open for the night so the wind would clear the dust scattered from the titanic battle between the two youngest players in the tournament.

Above, the stars sprawled endlessly, and cool wind swirled around Fuji; his ally and his weapon. He lay there, reflecting not on his earlier match but, rather, upon another battle that was still taking place. His skin itched, old wounds whispering for him to re-open them and start the cycle again... but those whispers were nothing compared to the furious screams that had once consumed him. The whispers he could ignore. He could live with them because Tezuka's voice was louder. The kind words Tezuka spoke to him drowned the whispers and soothed the itching. Tezuka's hands on his body gently swept away the fears and the unforgotten longing.

With Tezuka, Fuji could change—was changing. Even when Tezuka returned to Germany to see out his rehabilitation, Fuji would be okay. Because while Tezuka was the driving force behind Fuji's own rehab, even without his lover, Fuji wasn't alone. He had Echizen, and Atobe, and Yuuta—and even Momoshiro, and even without knowing anything, there were other friends beside him who supported him and believed in him. It was just that Fuji had been so consumed by the screaming inside of him that he hadn't heard their voices. Thanks to all of them, and especially to Tezuka, he was beginning to understand that his own paranoia was responsible for his self-imposed loneliness. 

He was going to be okay.

Somehow, he was going to be okay.

"Fuji, it's cold out here. It's late, but if you're up for it, why don't we go get some pizza?" suggested that warm, comfortable voice that would soon be leaving him again for a while.

"Tezuka, I'm surprised you found me out here," he said, glancing around the vast, empty stadium.

"I'm beginning to learn how that thrice-damned labyrinth of a mind of yours works," Tezuka teased, holding out a hand.

Fuji accepted it and allowed Tezuka to help him to his feet. Maybe on purpose, he tripped and fell into Tezuka's arms.

Looking up into those infinitely loving eyes, he smiled a genuine, soft smile.

"Pizza sounds heavenly," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story continues in part two of this series: U-17.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/6665275/chapters/15243931


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